


Mykonos

by ImperialMint



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:19:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 139,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialMint/pseuds/ImperialMint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future AU. After a seeing-stone washes up on the shores of Ealdor, the last Island left after the great floods and rising Ocean, Merlin sees their salvation - a Sky City named Camelot. When he wakes up on the shores of the Sky City, Merlin starts to realise the New World is nothing as it was fabled. It is then that Merlin begins his journey to meet the 'dragon' that called him there, realising that nothing in Camelot is what it seems. Together they begin a revolution against a blind king and the foundations the New World was built on, uncovering even deeper secrets that were thought to be buried with the Old World when the land sunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> Character death (mostly minor, but includes a known character who dies in canon and a child), torture, flooded-world scenario (&associated issues e.g. refugee camps, starvation etc.), sort-of-slavery, intoxication (leading to what some might consider dub-con, though it's not intended as such)
> 
>  
> 
> Acknowledgements:  
> Because, honestly, this wouldn't be here without the wonderful people who helped me. You guys have no idea how grateful to you I am!  
> \- My amazing cheerleader MOONILICIOUS who never once let me think about quitting and was always there when I needed her!  
> \- My beta who is literally a saint. CUTSYCAT stepped in 5 days before posting due to unforeseen problems, so any remaining errors are completely my own. THANK YOU SO MUCH.  
> \- The background team of helpers who listened to me moan day in day out and didn't say a word. While it's a large list, the people who were there at the drop of a pin I need to give extra love - TX_MINION and WOVENWATER  
> And, finally...  
> \- I need to say a massive, massive thank you to THEYWERECONES for being both such a pleasure to work with and a fantastic artist. I couldn't have asked for half of what she's drawn for our story and honestly cannot thank her enough.
> 
> This was an idea spawned from the book Exodus by Julie Bertagna. While it's deviated massively from the plot of the book, I still owe it a great deal.

  
**  
Part One: The Islands.  
Ealdor.  
April, 3500.    
**   


Merlin woke, as he often did, with a gasp upon his lips. The image of crushing water surrounded him, swayed behind his eyes, pulling him down with the current and dragging him to the thick sludge at the bottom of the ocean. He could feel the waves sliding over one another, calm, as if they hadn’t taken another one for their own. And then Merlin had been fighting, thrashing, to return to the surface.

He never reached it though. He always woke starved of oxygen, panting as if he’d really been dragged into the depths of the Great Ocean. The days he woke with the dream still pressed against the backs of his eyelids were never good days and Merlin knew, without venturing from his room, that the Great Ocean had stepped further to his door; crept up their pathway inch by inch while the island had slept.

Moving his arms above his head, Merlin stretched out his back, spine cracking as he sighed. It was a few more moments before he swung his legs out of bed, bare feet padding across the wooden floor as he moved to throw open the storm shutters. They gave an almighty screech as the hinges, battered from endless sea storms and countless attacks from the wind, swung open; sunlight streaming through to warm the cold wooden floors.

Merlin’s toes curled in delight as he rested his upper body against the window ledge, his head outside of the window and allowing a calm sea breeze to ruffle through his hair. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d seen the sun this strong and while the sky was far from clear (to the North you could see lighting clouds, hovering where Old Man Simmons had said great forests were, back in the Old World, and the South was shrouded in constant rain, blurring as far as they eye could see), it was peaceful around Ealdor.

A gull cried out and Merlin’s heart sung at the sound, one which he hadn’t heard for so long. There were legends that said the birds controlled the weather now, whispers that where their wings dipped and their feet settled would be a place of harmony. That was a lie though, Merlin knew, for the birds, like so many people, would move on when the wind changed, fleeing the rising tide and the loss of land.

“Merlin, breakfast’s ready,” a voice called from downstairs.

Leaving his perch at the window somewhat regretfully, Merlin exited his room and closed his eyes, walking through his house from memory rather than sight. He’d lived here his whole life, been through so many emotions while doing so, from fear as the seas raged outside to joy as his mother brought news of a neighbour giving birth. Children were rare in these times and it was usually up to the whole community to help the mother care for her child, to support her in a harsh and cruel world.

Despite having been unable to leave the house for days now that the sun was out Merlin no longer felt trapped. When the winds were howling like wolves of the Old World and the sea was stirring in fury, that was the time to feel trapped.

During the often week-long storms, when the stone walls of the home he shared with his mother closed in against them, that was the time that candles were snuffed out and people confined to their rooms. Merlin remembered wanting to see why the world was so angry, so hateful, itching to unclasp the bolts holding down the storm shutters, keeping the chilling winds and biting spray of rain and sea water at bay.

That was the most important thing, keeping the demons and waters out when the weather turned sour. It had happened once, lower down in the village, that someone had let the demons in and suffered, just like all the tales and cautions passed around.

The story, offered to little children who wanted to satisfy their curiosity of the storm, told of newcomers to the village. They hadn’t been in Ealdor long, climbing out of their ruined boats and onto the shores of the Island, pleading and begging for mercy that had been granted freely.

The Ocean had risen too high, as it always had, snapping at their heels and forcing them to flee their homes. Ealdor had welcomed them, given them shelter and food, but they’d opened their windows in a storm, letting the sea-devil himself in to claw at their skin and invade their bodies.

Two weeks later, when the storm let up, they were all dead. Merlin had been there, alongside his mother, as they tried the best they could to heal them. There was no medicine on the island of Ealdor, not even the oldest on their island, Old Man Simmons, had been alive in the time of medicines, and so it fell to the sparse plants of their island to try and heal, prayers and wishes mingling with poultices. None of it had been to avail and the chill had crept into their bones, claiming them one by one until all that was left was to pile them up in the ruins of the boat they came and set them sail to the sea, fire purging their voyage and their demons.

It was a harsh life, but in Ealdor and the last of the Lands, you lived by the sea. You were born from the sea and you died by the sea. There were no exceptions to this, it was a simple fact. The Lands followed no Gods, no martyrs, and no idols. All they knew was the sea, the decider, the harbinger of good and evil alike and the one constant the Lands knew. The Gods and hopes they carried had died when the tides had swelled and the land had been taken, claimed by the melting ice and pouring rains.

As he counted the number of creaks his foot made as he walked along the hall, Merlin placed his hand on the banister, a skill learnt from years of closing his eyes and mapping his house blindly. It had served its uses in the past, when the storms had raged for months and the energy the sun would have provided was used up and their homes were empty shells. Light was a commodity at night time, what with scarce electricity even when the solar panels had collected their maximum. There were the fire pits in each home, but they were to keep warm more than anything.

The last step Merlin placed his feet on gave a deep groan, as if it was about to collapse on itself, so he shifted the weight onto the balls of his feet, springing from the stairs and landing on the sole rug in the house placed in the hall between the door and the stairs. It was threadbare, as were all the materials on the island, but it had been at their threshold since before Merlin was born and he couldn’t imagine a home without it.

His mother was in the kitchen, a small annexe off of the hall. Merlin smiled to himself as he heard her humming away, no tune in particular that floated through the house. She had been beautiful once, but as with many of the people who remained on the Lands, there was a sharp hardness to the corners of her eyes; a lingering sense of sorrow clinging to her as a person who had lost too much already.

What person that lived on the Lands hadn’t lost anything? People were swept away by the seas, whole islands lost in one great wave far too often for no one to be affected. Merlin had lost his father before he was born to the waves, Ealdor had lost so many more and Merlin wondered how many more they were to lose in his lifetime.

“Oh, Merlin!” Hunith said, half-turned away from the stove where she was ladling out porridge. “About time too, have you seen the sun?”

She placed a bowl on the table, a spoon in her hand as she turned to face Merlin. “Get that under your belt before you even think about stepping out there.”

Merlin dug the spoon into the steaming porridge, stirring the oats around and blowing on them. The first mouthful burnt down his throat, but he didn’t lessen the speed at which he ate. The sun was out and there was no time to lose, but his mother wouldn’t let him pass out of the kitchen unless he’d eaten his fill.

It wasn’t that food was scarce on the island of Ealdor, but it wasn’t a good idea to go wasting it. With harsh, unpredictable weather, any crops cultivated were hardy and usually unpalatable unless stewed within an inch of their life or mashed down into something particularly unsavoury. There was always the fish from the sea and the small amount of livestock people kept in their homes (why waste space for animal shelters when they could live downstairs, giving you more heat and enclosed more safely?), but those resources had to be checked carefully and controlled firmly.

Either way, they had to survive. Trying out new seeds (seeds that had been stored from the Old World; preserved through many decades of water-borne lands) was all well and good, but they had never taken to the land. It had left the people (the Water people, not the Land people) with little option but to turn to lesser nutritional sources, foods that hardly scraped the barrel in terms of health.

It was just the way they lived, the way of all Islanders. The Great Ocean was a harsh ruler, but what else could they do?

As they so often did, Merlin’s thoughts drifted to the whispers of salvation, of massive sky-cities built when the waters first came rushing over the land. Great, prosperous places of harmony and peace, where they didn’t have to fight each day just to survive where there were people who had never known the hardships of the Great Ocean. Where they never had to know the sting of the wind on their cheeks or the biting cold of winter when the house was too beaten to stand against the cold any longer.

They were the sky-cities of dreams, imagined by every traveller who passed by and sought by others who had grown too weary of this life.

“And for pity’s sake, at least change out of your pyjamas!” Hunith said, snatching Merlin’s now-empty bowl from his hands and slapping his shoulders lightly. When the sun was out it was best to make haste to get out there.

Merlin took the stairs two at a time, grabbing a hold of the balcony at the top and pulling his weight round the corner of the stairs. The wooden structure groaned after years of Merlin perfecting the move, but he wasn’t there to hear it, having dashed into his room instead.

He dressed quickly, clothes flying onto the bed as Merlin stripped of his pyjamas. The sun was an oddity now, with the storm clouds covering the skies almost all the time and the rest spent battling biting winds and spray, so there was no time to lose. When the sunlight could vanish into the cold at a moment’s notice you had to be ready to go out and give it your all. That was the sort of people the Islands bred; hardy and opportunistic at a slight notice.

Before he set out, Merlin reached under his bed, feeling for the small wooden box. It was a nondescript object, plain and simple, but it held one of the most important objects in his life.

The lid of the box unlatched, the metal rusty on the clasp from where it had been damaged by the sea and the salt of the wind. Almost every object bore marks of the sea, but Merlin couldn’t afford to replace the clasp as metal was practically gold dust; people waging man-on-man wars for simple scraps.

The hinges gave a slight groan, but Merlin paid it no mind his attention turning instead to the object inside of the box. It was laid on rolled up scraps of fabric, a cushion against the wood of the box, and Merlin flipped back the scrap that covered the stone itself, brushing a finger against one of the smooth sides.

No matter how many times he’d seen the stone Merlin would never tire of the inky blackness and the hidden depths the lump of rock gave. Unlike any stone or crystal he’d seen, this one had been polished into an unnatural smoothness and it seemed to shine from the inside. It was the darkest of black, but gave no reflection of the person looking into it. Or at least of Merlin – he hadn’t shown the stone to anyone, not when he was unable to explain half of the things he saw in it.

The Great Ocean got to people, tales told. Even Ealdor who thought themselves to be different to other Islands, a little more accepting of the times, would fall back on superstition. If Merlin admitted to seeing things there was no doubt someone would say the Ocean spirits had entered him and he was lost to them. What happened after that, Merlin didn’t know, but he did know that no one had ever survived the ‘exorcism’ unharmed, and the faces of the ‘cured’ had been a tool to warn small children of the dangers of the Ocean.

This stone, though, was different. Merlin knew what was right and what was wrong and this stone didn’t feel wrong or evil. Instead he felt connected to the stone, as if there was a greater force that had brought it to the island, made Merlin find it on the shoreline and compelled him to take it home. Even buried under grit and mud, the stone had shone, not a scratch on its surface; though, there was plenty it should have been damaged on.

Carefully cupping the stone, Merlin laid it out on the windowsill to rest. It was, in essence, just a stone, but the weak warmth and light the sun gave to it had always led to the best ‘visions’, as if the stone was connected to the Old World, when the sun had governed the land and not the sea.

He turned to leave his room, glancing back at the stone once more. It gleamed against the rays flooding the window, a small rock that could fit in the palm of his hand easily. He’d return later to the stone, to navigate what it showed him, but now was the time to head outside.

Outside, Merlin saw people blinking, stepping out of their homes for the first time since winter had begun. When the sun came out, Ealdor came together; people talking to neighbours they might not have seen for months as if they’d simply been away for ten minutes. Families (or the remains of families) took walks and animals were let out to graze on the tough grass, not for nutrition, but because it was natural, right. The Ocean could steal a lot from them, but when the sun came, the people of Ealdor and other Islands came alive once more.

Hunith and Merlin lived on a slight hill, on a cobbled road leading to the main bulk of the Island. It was a short walk of about ten minutes before they hit the main town, where the shops and most Islanders lived, but Hunith refused to move closer to town. While most in the community preferred to stick together, the house on the hill had been in their family for generations and Hunith refused to move.

It was a house she had rebuilt from her mother and father with her husband, a house she had given birth to Merlin in. It was a house that Merlin had grown up in and was steeped in their family history. Despite the safety being around other people might bring, Merlin never wanted to move homes. He loved the rickety white-washed house they lived in with all his being and while he’d move if there was no other choice, it would always be their home.

The path into town was lined with relics of the past. They were oddities that had no place in the world of the Ocean and yet no one could bear to destroy them. A faded-red post box and telephone booth sat side-by-side, a lonely couple who would stay the land until the waters rose too high and consumed them. They had stayed the test of time - been loved in a strange way by the people around them and while the materials they were made from might have fetched a price, they were memories of Ealdor before the Ocean swelled up.

Set away from the main town, just on the outskirts, lay a church. It was derelict, crumbled in on itself and yet you could still see the stained glass windows that lay on the side, broken and dirtied yes, but still there.

No one on Ealdor believed in the gods of the past. They were stories now, another relic from the past. Many wanted to have such faith in a God (any god, any religion), but living out on an island, swamped by the sea and with the battering of waves only a constant reminder that you were on a sliding time scale gave you no faith. The Ocean was the only entity you could afford to believe in and there were no prayers for tomorrow, simply because life was too uncertain.

Like so many things, the old stories of religion had died out - forgotten and buried at the bottom of the ocean. For anyone who could remember details, it seemed so unlikely that there was any salvation from this that it was better not to hope, better not to think that things might get better. It was realistic, harsh, and Merlin often wished he could believe in some higher power, some helping hand.

They’d all learnt that lesson long ago; there were no hands coming out to help you, only your own feet planted firmly on the ground and the support of your community. If there had to be a god or a deity to believe in, Merlin could believe in the people of his village because that was all there was left. He didn’t know the outside world, didn’t know anything but the small scrap of land they called home.

There was one last obstacle to cross before Merlin could hit the main town, a humpbacked bridge. The tarmac was split and spotted by hardy weeds, but that hardly mattered. Cars were an invention of the past and, even if someone owned a car that could work, fuel had run out years ago.The only way around was to walk or sail, but no one ever chanced the sea.

The bridge once crossed a river that fast flowing and clear. The river was gone now, all that was left was a stagnant pond, tinted green and brown as it reached the muddy banks around it. When the floods had seen sure to take their village, they had built blockages and dams, trying to stem the flow of nature for as long as they could. It had worked, but time was running out and the Ocean was beginning to take the hand of the battle, tilting the odds in favour of the floods.

Ealdor’s time was coming to an end, but no one thought of it. Merlin had seen things, terrible images in the stone back in his room. Perhaps they fuelled his nightmares, but anyone living out on the seas had similar dreams. Merlin’s nightmares, though, held a different quality. They were almost real; as if Merlin really was drowning; as if he’d become the person he’d seen in the stone’s images.

But that was just all nonsense. Merlin shook his head as he stepped onto the rough stone of the village square. He was known as a bit of an odd ball, more of a dreamer than anyone else dared to be, and surely these things were just manifestations of his character. There were no visions, no glimpses into a bleak future. They’d all die by the sea eventually and it was that thought that gave Merlin the dreams.

He wasn’t, in any way, shape or form, special.

The first stop Merlin made was to a small cottage on the edge of the square tucked behind a few other houses. Once it might have had a lovely garden and picket fencing, but now it was almost derelict. The garden had been reduced to slabs of stone and grit; puddles of water dotted around – as it they were in everyone’s gardens. There was no beauty in the land of Ealdor, but the villagers took beauty in other things; the quiet of night when the storms paused, the sunlight when it filtered past the cloud; the hope that the sea might finally rest its campaign against the land.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, instead pushing past the bolt he knew would be unlocked and stomping his feet on the threadbare doormat.

“Will?” His shout rang through the house as he walked towards the kitchen and peeked in. It was still early in the day and if Will wasn’t in the kitchen eating he’d be in bed.

The kitchen was empty so Merlin left the threshold and moved over to the room across from the kitchen. Will was there, still tucked in his sheets and curled up with a pillow over his head.

“Wake up you lazy sod,” Merlin called, wrenching the pillow from his friend’s face. Will blinked sheepishly before rolling over, burrowing under the covers.

“The sun’s out now, get up!” Instead of the hurried reaction that news had given Merlin, Will uttered something unintelligible, trying to push Merlin off of the bed so he could return to sleep.

Merlin and Will were the only two of their age on the island and while it made sense for them to be friends they were different people and it shouldn’t have worked. It did though and had worked ever since they’d grown old enough to be able to walk outside. They were best friends and Merlin had been there for Will when the worst had happened, while Will had been the one to listen to Merlin’s fears, his dreams and hopes. Their differences led to arguments, sure, but they’d never fought so badly that they couldn’t turn around and laugh.

Simply put; anger wasn’t a reaction you could keep on the Islands. Will would always be his best friend even if he’d prefer to sleep through the sun and try to rope Merlin in on ‘quests’ along the shoreline, up to old Simmons’ place to bother the man again and again.

“What the fuck Merlin?” Will eventually popped out from the covers, frowning. “You know I hate it when you’re just hovering around and I’m trying to sleep.”

“Maybe that’s why I did it,” Merlin retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re a creepy, creepy man. Now get the hell out of my room and go make me breakfast.” Will smiled widely to the words, throwing the covers back and stretching. “And then we’ll go do whatever it is that caused you to wake me from my sleep, but it better be good. I was having a brilliant dream about some of the village girls. The things I’ve heard about that girl with the-“

“I’m going,” Merlin said hurriedly. He didn’t need to hear about Will’s wank dreams this early in the morning.

He did as Will asked him to, making a standard breakfast of porridge and water. He wondered when Will had gone to the well last as the large tank of water looked almost empty – it had to be at least a week.

The water supply had been tainted years ago and instead a new system, complete with purifier, brought salt water through the well and gave fresh water. How exactly it worked, no one really knew, but it was the last piece of technology from before the Flood that still worked.

“The offer still stands, you know,” Merlin said softly after Will had started eating.

Will’s spoon hovered over the bowl for a moment before he shook his head, digging into the porridge with enthusiasm.

“And my answer’s still the same,” he replied, tone even.

“Yeah, but you know what my mum’s like. She’ll keep asking,” Merlin added, looking out of the kitchen door to where the stairs lay, step boards missing and the railings split in places.

Will was five when his mother had died. There had been a sickness that claimed half the island and she, along with so many others, had perished. Hunith had taken him on, under her wing as he followed after Merlin, despite only having known him for a few months. When Will’s father would go out to work Will would come around their house to play.

It was a tradition that had kept long past infancy. Will had spent his spare time at Merlin’s and – when they’d been old enough – just in the company of Merlin. It had been the way they’d lived for years, but it had changed since last summer.

Will’s father was one of the few people on the island who owned a working boat and took to the seas when they could, fishing for the island. It was a dangerous task and only given to those who had impeccable talent with a boat. Even so, it wasn’t uncommon for a group to go out and return one man or boat down, setting Ealdor even further back.

Matthew, one of the other fishermen, had returned from the catch with a sombre look, heading to Hunith’s house. Merlin could remember the way Will had fallen to his knees, face blank as Matthew told him his father’s boat had tipped over, that the waves had come down too hard and too fast for anyone to do anything. Merlin had watched as Will sunk into Hunith’s embrace, clutching at her arms.

After that, Will had returned home, closed off the upstairs to his house and shut himself away for weeks. There was nothing Merlin could have done as the storms raged around that time of year, but he eventually barged inside of Will’s house, furious.

They’d argued, Will had thrown things and Merlin had left more than once, but they worked through. You couldn’t hold onto anger and live on an Island. You couldn’t let grief consume you or the Oceans would have won. All you could do was keep living, show the world that you weren’t going to give up, and keep going.

Turning down the offers of coming to live with Hunith and Merlin, Will had decided to stay in his family home. Though he was surrounded by the memories of his family – of what he’d lost – a day never passed that Merlin worried for his friend. Like all Islanders, Will was strong.

“There’s gossip the Ocean will settle this summer,” Will said after scraping the remains of his porridge from the bowl. He licked the spoon and set it back to rest in the bowl.

There was always gossip the seas would settle. Every year, people muttered about how this one would be different, how the tides would begin to recede.

Will stood and took his bowl over to the sink, slamming it down.

“Why can’t they just admit it’s pointless? We’re all going to die on this stinking piece of land and rot until the Ocean just buries us.” Will turned, practically snarling. “And that’s if we’re lucky! What if the water just keeps going and we have no other option but to just drown? None of us can swim, we’d drown in seconds!”

Merlin had had this conversation before, but Will had always been optimistic, never on the side of the people who had told them that life was useless and they’d just die.

There had been a time when Will had been adamant he’d learn to swim before the Ocean got them, but such a task was impossible. If you were able to get out far enough in the waters to be able to get the depth you needed, that was an achievement in itself. The currents were strong, the sea too unpredictable even on sunny days. Most of the people who had even tried to swim out had died right there and then and perhaps only one or two had survived the illness that had crept upon them once back on land.

The Ocean was wild, untameable, dangerous and a million other things. You couldn’t escape its jaws forever and if you fell in, you were unlikely ever to come back up. Will had realised this soon after he had planned to learn to swim and now it seemed like every hope he’d had had been sucked from him.  
“Will-“ Merlin began, only to be cut off.

“No, I’m sick of it.” Will shook his head. “I just… I just want it to be over, you know?” He moved back to the kitchen chair sinking down slowly. “I’m sick of wondering whether I’ll have half my house ripped off in the night or whether the town will be flooded the next time I turn my back.”

“You can’t think like that,” Merlin said hurriedly. Everyone had these thoughts, but they didn’t do any good. What was the point of worrying that you were going to die when you just had to keep going?

But, a little voice said, what was the point in going on when inevitably all that lay before you was death? No matter what Merlin had seen in the inky black stone, it wasn’t real; couldn’t be. His visions, or whatever they were, were simply an imagination brought up on stories from the Old World.

“I know,” Will said miserably, resting his head on the table. “But the waters are rising again and I was there when Simmons gave his report, freaking half the village out. And guess who has to calm down some of the kids? Me!”

Merlin nodded sympathetically. All Will needed was to talk, like most people. How long had he sat alone, unable to talk while storms raged around him? At least Merlin had Hunith.

“They’re right though,” Will muttered, grabbing Merlin’s arm. “Do you remember the rocks we used to play on as kids? You used to be able to see them out of the window here.”

The shutters were thrown back and all Merlin could see was the water. The rocks and the scraggy beaches that had littered his childhood were gone now, swallowed up by the sea. Houses on the outskirts of the village had vanished too. They were shrinking now and it was far too late to be convinced otherwise.

“Simmons is holding a meeting soon. All he’ll say though,” and here Will’s voice was bitter, “Is how we need to stick together. A load of shit that’ll do, we need to think bigger.”

With wary eyes, Will turned to Merlin, voice low as if imparting a secret.

“We need to look to the ends of the Earth. The places where the waves are smooth and gentle, where there are huge utopias!” Will’s hands were clenched and Merlin wondered how long he’d be thinking of this plan. Did Will wish he’d thought of it last year? Back when his father was alive?

“There aren’t any miracles Merlin,” Will said, face stern and serious. “And those tides out there,” he continued, “Aren’t going to go down. The only thing they’ll do is rise and rise until we’re all dead.”

Merlin didn’t like the look on Will’s face. It was a look he hadn’t seen for years, not even after his father had died. There was only one time Will had looked like this and it had been when a gull he’d taken in after it had been injured died.

He’d turned to Merlin, back when they were on the cusp of adulthood, and said, “If the sea won’t care for her own, what will she do to us?”

Their future was bleak, always had been, but Will seemed so convinced in these tales of utopias and sky cities. So many people had been convinced only to land on Ealdor, exhausted and angry that they’d gone for so long without even sighting the illustrious cities. They were myths and left people bitter and haunted, their last hope stolen away with a wicked twist of the waves.

“But we can’t do anything,” Merlin said softly. It wasn’t that he wanted to die, but why risk your life chasing a dream when you had your feel planted on reality, the real word.  
Will shook his head slightly.

"My dad kept a book, I saw it when I..." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. Merlin assumed he'd been looking through possessions he'd never had the courage to recently and decided to say nothing. "Well I saw it. It's an old book, all in tatters."

Will paused again before holding a hand up, stilling Merlin and wandering off. He returned with a scrapbook in his hands and placed it on the table.

"Here. It's got pictures of news reports, from ages ago."

Merlin's hands shook a little as he took the book from Will, gently opening the front page. Newspapers, or any news for that matter, hadn't existed for decades, falling shortly when the Great Flood had risen up, cutting connections from mainland and splitting great countries into Islands. Technology had failed then too and electricity shortly after.

"But these are impossible," Merlin said, slightly awed.

Underneath his fingers were blotched images that must have been captured right before the Flood. They showed images of structures being built, massive iron wrought creations rising up on seas and lands. They were taller than anything Merlin had ever seen and, by the looks of it, hadn't even been finished.

"They're the sky cities. They have to be," Will said hurriedly, flipping the pages of the book to reveal more and more images of the structures being built, technology that hadn't existed for centuries finally being showcased in use, not just the archive pictures Merlin had seen in other books.

They couldn't hope though. Hoping wouldn't do them any good if there was only hardship at the end.

"Who's to say they lasted though?" Merlin didn't look at Will, didn't want to see his face either way. "What if they built them and then the Flood hit and they crumbled?"

He didn't want to know if Will agreed with him. What if Will realised that his hopes were futile? Could Merlin destroy his friend's hopes that easily? He certainly didn't want to, but what other option was there? Will couldn't leave the island, not without Merlin.

And the other option? To accept that the sky cities were real and, when the inevitable happened and Ealdor began to sink, head for them? Merlin didn't know if he could do that, could place so much faith in a hope.

He wanted to though. Secretly, deeply inside he wanted it all to be true. He wanted there to be glorious cities, but he couldn't dare hope. He was just a boy from a dying island, nothing more nothing less. Even though he'd seen things - wonderful, terrible things - in the stone, what good was that? He wouldn't leave Ealdor, there was too much of a risk and nothing to risk it for.

So no. Merlin wouldn't let himself believe in what Will wanted him to, simply because he'd never have it. In the darkness of night, when he'd woken panting from his dreams, that was the time he could think about what he wanted. Between waking and dreaming, he could think about the feel of clouds, the feeling of safety, but only then.

"So what? We have to try it Merlin!" Will's sigh was tired and he turned away, setting his bowl in the sink and resting his hands on the kitchen counter. "I'm sick of never having anything to hope for. If I can't have this one thing then what's the point? I don't have any family left except you and Hunith, but it's not the same."

Merlin waited. It hurt a little to hear that, but he knew his family could never compare to the family Will had had before the sea had taken them away.

A sudden howl of wind cut into Will's words and the pair of them turned to the window.  
"Shit," Will whispered. "The sun's gone already."

He fixed a look at Merlin as if to question the reason Merlin had woken him up. Merlin shrugged in response and made for the door.

"I'm off then. A storm will probably close in again soon and I have things to do. You're welcome to come..." he trailed off as Will shook his head.

"Nah, I need to think some things over." Merlin was about to say something, worried for once, when Will continued. "I'll be over later, yeah? If it's not pissing it down that is!"

They shared a smile and after leaving Will's, Merlin headed for the centre-most house, situated directly in the town square. It was the main supply house and while Hunith hadn't mentioned anything, Merlin knew they were running low. In his pockets he'd stored the last of his childhood toys - little metallic cars. To make sure they got the most they deserved, Merlin had been selling off old, unwanted toys for reuse, to be melted down and pulled apart. Hunith had no idea and he wanted to keep it that way.

There was little else he could do. They didn't keep livestock anymore and their garden had failed to produce crops for the third year now. While no one on the Island would deny them food, they'd only receive morsels, not enough to make Merlin happy for his mother's health. She gave too much for him and he couldn't give anything back.

He bought the supplies and prepared his lie for Hunith. He'd simply say he helped fix someone's fence and they'd given him something, or Old Man Simmons had been willing to give them a little more on the promise that Merlin wouldn't come back for a while.

As he moved to walk back, wind whipped against Merlin's face, cutting into his cheeks. He grimaced and looked up the path he'd taken down to the village. It wasn't the only pathway to take that led from the village heart to his house, but it was the easiest - especially when the storms hit.

This time, though, with Will's hopes ringing in his ears, Merlin wanted to take a risk. So instead of taking the cobblestones back up to the house, he'd walk down by the shoreline, on the path that only the ocean knew now.

It wasn't difficult to get to and soon Merlin stepped onto the crooked pathways the waters had half-swallowed, crossing his arms as much as he could with the sack in his hand. He grimaced each time the sea winds hit his face, but he didn't ever consider turning back.

There was an old set of steps leading to nowhere (now at least and no one could remember what they used to belong to) and Merlin often sat on them, looking out at the never ending anger of the sea. Today, though he shouldn't, he sat on the middle step, supplies tucked at his feet and body curled up against the beginning of another storm.

Merlin's eyes took in the sight. There was no sandy beach or stony ground, but mud and sludge on either side of a beaten path. The waves rose and fell over the path, coating it continuously in mud and grit, beating down the slabs of concrete just like they were beating down the island.

Maybe Will was right. The tides were drawing ever closer, even a blind man would be able to see that. He wanted to hope, but looking out as far as he could see, all Merlin found was waves. There were no sky cities, not even on the horizon. None of the refugees to come to Ealdor had ever seen them either... so how could they exist?

He sighed, shaking his head. Too many thoughts, not a big enough head and too many ambitions for a simple Island boy. What would he ever achieve? Living maybe, but not much else.

Merlin's thoughts turned to the stone in his room and of its whispers. Of the visions he'd seen, the horrible things and the wonderful things. They showed sun, freedom and a life spent away from the horrors of the ocean. He wanted to believe in them so much, but what could a stone show? Magic and such things belonged in fairy tales, not the life of someone from the Ocean.

Slinging the sack over his shoulder, Merlin continued on, ignoring the angry crash of waves and the silence of everything else. It wasn't fair; how they had to live. How many days did they have left? Old Man Simmons had been whispering about a surge of water that would be coming for months now and the thought of a giant surge scared Merlin.

What if his dreams - the images he'd seen in the stone too - were going to come true? He didn't want to think about it, but aside from sitting on the coastline, there was little else to do.

"I'm back!" Merlin called through the house as he entered, stomping his feet on the welcome mat and shaking his coat off.

He took the sack into the kitchen, where Hunith smiled softly.

"I'll be upstairs," Merlin said and she nodded wearily. Her eyes were pink, as if she'd been crying and Merlin wondered what aspect of their life had got to her this time - Will, the Ocean or the loss of his father.

The stone was cool in his hands and Merlin wasted no time on lying down in his bed, rolling onto his stomach with the black stone in front of him. Nothing happened for a moment, as always, and then Merlin could feel the tug in his belly, a call almost. Something shifted and flowed inside of him, as if the stone called to a primal sense within his blood.

And then he could See.

Colours exploded as Merlin looked into the stone, thousands of images crisscrossing each other, calling for his attention. There was no process of selection, rather the stone chose what it wanted to show him. He waited, eyes flickering over the moving shapes and colours, until he finally felt the tug once more, calling him and pulling him in.

He could see himself, a child’s raggedy doll on the water, floating. The sky above looked calm, but Merlin (the onlooker-Merlin) knew it would change in an instant. And true to form clouds began to draw closer, darkening as they gathered over his patch on the calm ocean. Waves began to build, rocking his body angrily, trying to push him from the waters.

It was the vision Merlin had seen countless times and he wanted to close his eyes, turn away from the stone so he no longer had to watch himself drown. It was futile though; should he manage to tear his gaze away, the stone would simply call him back to draw him in and make him sit, watch the vision all over again.

Now he was drowning, sinking like a stone to the bottom of the ocean floor. Merlin’s lip curled. He didn’t want to watch this now, not with what Will had said and his mother’s blotched eyes in his mind.

Focusing on the tug of the stone, Merlin felt the power inside of him, beating in time to his heart and wrapped around the stone. He couldn’t close his eyes, but he could tug, pull back and away from the visions. If he had to see visions, he didn’t have to see these ones at least. He didn’t have to watch himself die, only to repeat it later and feel himself die.

The stone seemed to heat in his hands, reacting to Merlin’s power and tug, refusing to let him go. But Merlin wouldn’t let this one go. The stone was the only thing he had that was different, it was the only thing he had connecting him to life outside the island. He’d seen the past through the stone, seen things no one else could even dream of and he wasn’t about to lose this fight. The stone was his, not the other way around.

There was a surge of power and Merlin felt it through his body, the stone shining with an unnatural light coming from inside. Almost as if it had its own power, Merlin could feel it curling around him, wrapping into his own power and mingling. It didn’t push, didn’t pull, but almost niggled, tempting him to look into the stone.

Merlin could see himself hitting the bottom of the ocean floor, as usual, but there was something else. As a stream of bubbles escaped the stone-Merlin’s throat, he could feel a familiar light headedness, fright crawling at his chest. The stone had connected him somehow to the vision and Merlin could feel the terror that haunted his dreams.

Instinctively he ripped his power away from the stone, trying desperately to untangle himself and his mind from that of the stone’s. Instead of being freed, however, the stone merely just seemed to pull him in tighter, wrapping him further in the vision and choking him, proving to him that he was only going to die alone and on the bottom of the ocean floor.

No, Merlin decided. He wouldn’t, and he pulled back with an almighty shove, pushing the stone’s ‘consciousness’ back. It went, but took Merlin with it, snatching his power and his heartbeat and his thoughts, wrapping them up into inky darkness.

Merlin closed his eyes as the last of the air left his lungs. He’d usually woken up by now.

  
**.**   


Merlin opened his eyes. In the back of his head, Merlin was aware of the fact that he shouldn’t be here, but the thought didn’t worry him. The darkness around was comforting, familiar, and without understanding how he knew it, Merlin knew he was inside of the stone.

“What’s so important you needed to drag me here to show me?” he asked quietly, pushing himself up from where he’d been lying on the floor. Myths and legends of stones from the Old World ran through his mind, but Merlin couldn’t remember anything on Seeing Stones, let alone stones that could transport you to places.

It was like magic, but magic didn’t exist. Maybe the stone contained old power, fabled magic that had died long ago and been buried within the stone. That would make sense – the myths and stories had some truth, but it had died out long ago to be of any use anymore.

The land around was a wasteland, crumbled buildings that could have been grand and noble years ago. Instead there were remnants of pillars covered in moss and twisted weeds, ugly, yellow flowers poking up between crevices. Once this place must have been loved, such was the smooth of the dilapidated marble statues, but the person who must have loved it had fallen long ago.

Assuming of course that this place was real and not just some figment of the imagination.

Although it appeared to be night, there were a row of lanterns dotted around clear-cut pathways, overhanging the areas to walk and fanning light out to spread across the landscape, highlighting the ruins and the lost memories.

Merlin began walking, unsure exactly where he was going, but he half-stumbled up concealed stairs, grabbing uselessly at the crumbled banister. There was something wrapping around him, pulling and pushing him in a direction. The feeling - not unlike the tendrils of power that had curled around him when he'd held the stone in his hands - appeared to be leading him, wanting him to see something. Perhaps this was why Merlin had been brought inside of this world; there was something here he needed to see.

The only sound around him was the sound of his footsteps. Never before had Merlin felt such quiet. Even on the island there was the constant thrum of waves in the background to remind you who exactly watched over you. The Ocean was always there, but now there was an empty place in the back of Merlin's mind as he walked, finally free of the sea.

"Once upon a time," he muttered, thinking up an old fairy tale Hunith might have told him... or was it Will's dad? Or even Old Man Simmons, he always had liked a good old story after all.

"Once upon a time there was a young boy," Merlin continued. The stairs he'd been walking up had led to a wide platform, almost as if it had once been a grand room. There was a half-ruined chair in the centre, made of stone. It looked regal somehow, as if it had once belonged to a great king.

Maybe it had. Maybe this place had been a golden palace before the floods, but now was left to the wilderness and rot.

"And he was a stupid boy who never listened to what people told him," Merlin said hurriedly, turning to look back the way he'd come. This was ridiculous - there was nothing here. Maybe he was dreaming, that would make far more sense than the other option of being inside a stone or another world.

"And one day," Merlin said softly, eyes raking over the stairway and beyond, frowning as he noticed there wasn't a convenient portal or anything, just ruined pillars, weeds and darkness. "He decided to do a stupid thing and got himself stuck in a creepy place with no way out." Merlin sighed.

"Who are you?" a voice broke into his thoughts and Merlin span round to face the direction of the throne, face ashen and shoulders tensed.

Even in the shroud of darkness, it was clear no one was there. The voice had been hollow, surely not a real voice, and anyway, what was someone else doing here? It was Merlin's dream (or mistake, but he didn't believe in things like magic, not the Ocean boy from Ealdor), nothing else. No one could be here, it was impossible.

But that didn't mean he couldn't play along. Maybe it was the stone, embodied with a voice in his dream.

"Merlin. Who are you?" he replied, eyes scanning the land furiously, trying to spot movement in the shadows.

"I think the question should really be, Merlin," the voice drawled, "Is how you got a hold of one of the Obsidians."

Merlin frowned; what the hell was an Obsidian? Did he mean the stone? Why was a stone asking how it got there, surely the stone knew? Oh, but it was a dream, right. Dreams didn't make sense. He could humour a dream.

"You washed up on the Island shores. I found you and took you home." Merlin gave a bleak smile, spinning around in hopes the stone would see it.

"Do you always look like such an idiot?" the voice asked and Merlin's smile fell, turning to an angered frown. He spun around once more, peering through the lights until he finally caught a glimpse of movement.

It came from the throne, curled around the broken stone as if it had been there all this time. It wasn't a particularly big creature, but then again it looked more of a projection than a living being. Its tail was curled on the floor, the main bulk of its body curved around the back of the stone and its large head resting atop of the throne back, smoke curling from its nostrils.

A dragon. Or at least the projection of a dragon, but Merlin had read enough of the old books to know that projections had to be sustained by a living core nowadays. Electricity ran low and you had to connect the supply to a living object in order to get a projection as flawless and real as this one, which meant somewhere out there, across the oceans, further than Merlin had even dared to dream, was a dragon.

"Who are you?" the dragon asked again, shuffling forwards a little and releasing a stream of smoke with its words. Its lip curled at Merlin's silence, revealing sharp teeth.

Though it was a projection, Merlin knew it was more deadly than it let on. Especially as it was a dragon, who knows, maybe they could do magic from afar with only the barest of links to perform their incantations.

(And, okay, maybe Merlin was quick to jump the gun in agreeing about magic now, but meeting a dragon kind of blew things out of the water a little and you tended to accept things first and think about them later.)

"I told you," he replied to the dragon's question, "I'm Merlin."

The answer didn't satisfy the creature though for it snorted, shifting on the throne with a clatter of talons and a shift of wings.

"No, I mean how did you get here? It's not somewhere you can just... pop up in." There was an undercurrent to the words, but Merlin didn't fancy inspecting it just yet. All he wanted was to go home, maybe the dragon could help?

"I didn't mean to," he started, moving his hands so that they were widespread and clear for the dragon to see. He wasn't armed, but the dragon had no reason to believe that before now. He wanted to make friends (sort of) and get home, nothing more.

"I was looking at the stone... the black one." Merlin frowned, "The Obsidian? Is that what it's called?"

The dragon didn't even flutter an eyelid and so Merlin chose to carry on. "Well whatever it's called, I was looking into it.” Merlin took a slight step back.

He suddenly didn’t really care as to why he’d landed in this place. Maybe there was a hidden trap door or something and that was how he’d gotten in. Or, if it was a dream (though that was looking less likely, Merlin had never seen pictures of dragons and never been interested in them much before, so why his subconscious would choose to present him with one was beyond him) then he could find a way to wake himself up, surely.

The dragon pushed itself up more, snaking its head towards Merlin. The teeth were back under its lips, but there was a glint lingering in its eyes that Merlin didn’t particularly like.

“You said the Obsidian was washed up on the shore?” There was something behind the words, but Merlin couldn’t fathom what to name it. Desperation perhaps? Curiosity maybe?

“Yes,” he replied, his foot catching on a rogue piece of rubble that sent him sprawling backwards. The dragon moved then, sliding from the throne and onto the ground, taking a step towards him. It was longer than Merlin had imagined, sleek in the darkness around them.

"Where are you from?" the dragon said, sitting back on its haunches and staring at Merlin. Its eyes were golden, full of curiosity now and little else.

How could the stone not know where it was? It was the one that had washed up and if this dragon was connected to it or something (weren't there stories of dragons collecting vast amounts of jewels - maybe this one was attached to everything it had collected?)

"The Island of Ealdor." Merlin crossed his legs, regarding the dragon without fear now. If it was curious in him, maybe he could simply keep on talking until he was able to leave this place.

The dragon flared its nostrils, smoke spouting out. Okay, so maybe waiting wasn't the best thing. Trust Merlin to get the dragon-projection to hate him from answering a question.

"You can't be from an island," the dragon said, shaking its head at Merlin. "All of them were lost, years ago."

Merlin shook his head slowly. He'd never been a liar in his life and he didn't intend to start now, even if it cost him a few chargrilled limbs.

"Ealdor's one of the last islands left now, what with the floods." He paused, looking down to pull a clump of weeds out of the ground. "I don't think we have long left though," he admitted, finally caving into Will's fears and his mother's sobs.

Everyone on the island knew it; they were doomed. It was just a matter of time before they all drowned, the last of the islands finally succumbing to the pull of the Ocean.

"Why haven't you moved then?" the dragon asked, sliding down on the ground until it was on its belly, still eye-to-eye with Merlin. Its neck snaked out, head tilting to the side in contemplation.

Merlin gave a huff of laughter. "Moved? How can we when there's nothing but water around us? People try, but they die." He shook his head. "It might be easy for you to get up and move on, but not all of us are dragons."  
For a moment, the creature looked taken aback, looking down at itself sharply. The moment was lost as its head jerked back to look at Merlin, eyes wide.

"You said your name was Merlin?" it asked, inching forwards.

"Yeah, Merlin of the Emrys family," he replied, frowning. Trust a dragon (one that might be able to help in some way) to focus on the unimportant things, such as a name.

"Emrys?" came the surprised answer, golden eyes widening. "Emrys of the Ocean?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. For a creature of such majesty, it was rather slow on the uptake. "Yeah, from Ealdor," he added, giving the dragon something else to fix on.

"How did you get here?" the dragon demanded, tone changing once again. The curiosity was still there, but it had a dangerous edge now and Merlin knew he had to be careful.

"As I said before," he began carefully, "I was looking into the Obsidian stone, as I always do. I could see myself drowning in the ocean and then, suddenly, I could feel something pulling me in."

He looked at the dragon, hoping it would tell him what the force was. He received no such gesture and so carried on.

"I tried to fight it, but I eventually ended up here." Merlin looked at the dragon and knew it didn't believe him. There was one last thing he had to know though, before he'd be satisfied to go home. "Where exactly is 'here'?" he ventured, hoping it wouldn't send the dragon into a rage.

Thankfully, the dragon merely raised an eyebrow, pushing itself up off of the ground.

"The personal gardens of Queen Ygraine," the dragon said. "Though they've been left to ruin since the queen died."

Merlin looked around, saddened to think that no one had cared enough to continue the queen's obvious love for the garden. Did the dragon live here now? If no one came to tend the garden then maybe it was a good place to stay.

And then a thought hit Merlin and he wondered why it hadn't been his instant reaction. A garden. A queen, left to ruin - not ruined by the sea.

"Where are you?" he rushed out, moving forwards until he was resting on his hands and knees, desperation clouding his voice. "Where is this garden, in the real world?"

The dragon tilted its head, fixing Merlin a look.

"You really don't know?" it asked.

Merlin shook his head.

"The garden's located at the base of the Tower, down by the caves." Merlin needed to know where this Tower was, hoping it wasn't just a dream now, desperately clinging to Will's hope and allowing himself, just this once, to believe.

"Where?" he breathed, heart drumming wildly.

"Camelot. The Sky City of Camelot," the dragon said, a curl of smoke escaping its jaw as it returned to the broken throne, curling its body around, almost protectively.

Merlin's heart soared in his chest. Will was right! There was hope for them all, hope for salvation and an escape from the waters. They'd be able to be free, to live in happiness, free from the tides and floods.

At last, there was hope.

And just as that thought blossomed, the darkness shattered and Merlin fell back, landing sprawled out on his bedroom floor, the shutters over his window rattling as he wind pounded against them. He stared at the ceiling for a beat before leaping up, swearing as he moved over to the stone – the Obsidian – on his bed, wrapping both hands around it firmly.

“Take me back,” he hissed at it, eyes searching the inky black furiously. “Take back now!”

The stone was unyielding, dark and cold. There was no hint of power – of magic – curling outwards towards Merlin and he wondered if it had all been a dream. It couldn’t exist, could it? It was just a product of his imagination and the words Will had planted there earlier.

Will was a realist. He knew they were likely to die sooner rather than later and so had done the realistic thing – look for an option. What he’d placed his hopes in, though, was a myth.

But, a voice whispered, if Will the realist could place his hopes in the Sky Cities, then why shouldn’t Merlin?

He shook his head. Dragons didn’t exist, magic was for stories and there was no hope or salvation. If there had been Sky Cities, why hadn’t they come for them? If they truly existed, Merlin didn’t want the answer to that question. Sure they might be their only hope (if they existed), but what hope was it to place trust in people who had left you and so many others to the fates of the Ocean?

Merlin let the stone fall from his hands and it rolled under the bed. He flopped onto the mattress, burrowing his face into his pillows as a storm raged up outside. This was his life and there was no escaping it. He’d spent his childhood with his head in the clouds, spinning tales and stories, but people of the Oceans had to grow up some time.

With a heavy heart, Merlin knew it was his time to finally let go of hopes and dreams and acknowledge the Ocean was all they had. No dragons, no magic, no salvation. Just the slowly rising waters and the people he loved, sitting on a ticking time bomb of an Island, simply waiting.

  
**.**   


Weeks passed before Merlin thought back to the events in the Obsidian properly. He’d thought about it in snatches – how could he not have? – in the moments between waking and sleep, but once on his feet and up, there was too much to do to think about ridiculous notions such as magic and salvation.

The truth was, Merlin couldn’t hedge his bets when all he had for proof was a vision (from a stone and a dragon, possibly the most unlikely thing that could happen aside from the sea receding) and old newspaper cuttings. Maybe they had existed once, these sky cities, but who was to say they still stood, towering above the earth when the rest of the world had been laid to ruin by the sea?

There was also something else that prevented Merlin from thinking too hard about what had happened. A few houses had been swallowed by the tide and the villagers had moved into the central part of the town. It was a natural thing, but that didn’t make it any nicer.

That alone, though, wasn’t enough. It was life of Islanders, a cold, hard fact, and they always pulled through. No, there was a second issue that pushed through, an elderly woman sobbing on the shores of Ealdor surrounded by the wreckage of a small boat.

One of the village girls had tried to coax her into the hall, safe from the beginnings of another storm, but it had taken five men to forcibly drag her inside once the storm hit with fury. She had clutched a bag to her chest, thrashing in their grip as she screamed for a son lost to the ocean.

Her name was Mary Collins, she said once she’d calmed down a little; though perhaps calmed was the wrong word to use, shocked would be more appropriate. She and her son had been the last two survivors on a scrap of land that had once been the island of Helen, a smaller isle than Ealdor and lying almost directly south. They’d all thought the island completely lost years ago, but here was a woman, clinging onto life.

She’d built a boat with her son, fleeing the last of the land just before the floods had swelled over their banks. They’d been so hopeful that they could make it to Ealdor, anywhere safe really, but then the waves had raged and Mary’s son had been thrown overboard, the boat falling apart against the shores of Ealdor shortly after.

Somehow, even knowing deep inside as they all did that her son was dead, Mary still asked each and every one of the villagers whether they’d seen her son. When she’d asked Merlin, he’d simply shaken his head, turning away like countless other people had. What could he say? Confirm her nightmares and drive her into madness?

He didn’t have to be the driving force. As soon as she’d spoken to as many people as she could, Mary drew in on herself, moving to a corner of the hall and sitting on the ground, face blank and wrinkled skin pale. Old Man Simmons shook his head, a clear sign to leave her, and that was exactly what they did.

Gossip spread as she refused to eat, refused to sleep, screamed when she believed no one to be around, the howls of her pain echoing around the village like ghosts. Spirits, people began to whisper, drawing away from her when once they had approached with good intentions and curiosity.

If there was one thing the people of the Lands feared more than the Ocean, it was the spirits. They came from the lost souls it was said, from the people who had died in the waves and never been put to rest. They invaded the soul, stripped away your humanity into sorrow and pain, and took every inch of what made you human and good before killing you.

The whispers grew until it was a fact, not a suspicion, that Mary had been invaded by the Ocean Spirits. And of course, with a fact like that, people drew back and away, muttering behind hands about how she was cursed and lost to them all. People shared glances that drew strength from unsaid words, condemning a grieving woman.

Merlin didn’t know how the village reached the conclusion, but the older women of the village gathered in groups one morning, weak rain pattering down from storm-ridden clouds. It was a quiet day and the ocean was eerily steady, waves smoothing across the shores as opposed to pounding against Ealdor; beating it to submission.

“They’ve gone to collect her now,” Merlin overheard one of the women say, drawing the rest of the gathered to shake their heads.  
“It’s a pity really,” someone else said, voice grave.

By Merlin’s side, Hunith moved to clutch his arm. Merlin looked to her and noticed her pale face, matching so many others out in the rain.  
“Mum?” he asked softly, wondering what was wrong. Something was obviously happening and someone had mentioned they were collecting someone… had Mary Collins died?

They were out in the main square, having come to collect supplies while the weather had let up. No shops were open, but the square was bustling, with almost everyone in the village gathered, the only space completely devoid of villagers the centre.

Merlin watched as the crowd began to part at one end of the square, Old Man Simmons leading a procession of men, half-dragging Mary into the centre. Someone set down a wooden chair, laid it out wonky on the cobblestones before Mary was pushed down into it, her arms and legs then bound to the wooden frame.

Watching this woman, Merlin suddenly knew what was going to happen. Fear cultivated on small island communities and in a place that simply had to pick itself up and carry on. Grief had a time limit. This woman had mourned for too long and now superstition governed she was consumed by spirits of the ocean, that sea-devils had invaded her body when she’d fallen victim to the waves.

“My son!” The sob that wrenched from the woman’s chest was heart breaking and Merlin noticed Hunith turn away, looking to the ground. No one would meet Mary’s eyes, preferring to look away as she was strapped to the chair.

Merlin knew why that was. They felt guilty for being alive. It was a ridiculous notion, but nonetheless a true one. Every Islander that survived carried the weight of the dead around their ankles, holding them back and chaining them to the Ocean. Why did they get to live when so many (so, so many) had perished easily?

Was it some great plan of the Ocean spirits? Were they laughing at the pitiful humans as they clung to their scraps of earth, soon to be swallowed up or driven to madness?

The woman was still sobbing, her creased face wracked with misery as the men stepped back, their handiwork finished. She could barely move her hands and feet, wrists and ankles bound tight. Old Man Simmons stood before her, leading the proceedings, while a few of the other Island men ushered the crowd back and away.

It was harsh, cruel and disgusting, but it was all the Ocean had taught them. To be weak was to admit defeat and the woman here hadn’t been able to pull herself from her misery. It would be kinder, Merlin had heard whispered, to throw her back to the sea, give back the demons that had infested her in her grief and sorrow.

They were to perform an exorcism, drive the demons from her body and set the woman’s tortured mind free. It was said that these practices dated back centuries, but it had always been too barbaric for Hunith and so for Merlin too, that he didn’t know exactly what these ‘exorcisms’ contained.

Some people stayed, firm faced as they watched the woman’s blood taken from her, leeches set along her bare skin. They were to purify her body, draw out the infected blood that the spirits had claimed, sucking the very essence of the ocean from her.

And when the leeches had bled their amount, Old Man Simmons took out a set of thin needles, similar in a way to the acupuncture tools of old, except these had been blessed by the ocean, soaked in its water. They were said to draw the spirits out, attracting them to the source from which they came.

The needles were placed in the centre of the leech marks, pushed in deeply to the skin. While Mary hadn’t uttered anything but ‘my son’ over and over during the bleeding process, her gasps and pained sobs could be heard clearly around the now-silent square, some people covering their eyes and ducking their head.

Nobody left though. People clutched at each other, what seemed like the entire village leaning on each other for support, but no one dared to leave.

When you were trapped on an island with outsiders rarely coming to your shores, you drew in on old tales, twisting them until they became the truth. In the case of the Ocean Spirits, stories had been whipped up that the Spirits could take to the air and so when being drawn out into the needles they could enter the surrounding people.

You couldn’t get people to stay away from an exorcism. It was gruesome yet entertaining in a sick, twisted way. It was like the days of old, when people gathered to watch an execution. Humans, no matter what age, what history, were fascinated by violence and death.

A few minutes later, the needles were taken out slowly, blood dribbling from the wounds. Mary’s head was tilted back in the chair, eyes rolled upwards as she gasped in pain, trying to struggle free from the ties. She was unsuccessful, of course she was, Old Man Simmons had been leading exorcisms since he was young, well over fifty years ago and then men who had tied her had been tutored in this practice for years too, honing it over countless washed up, scared people.

Another of then men held out a dark pot, setting it on a stand one of the others had quickly assembled. The pot looked heavy, cast in grey stone, and the man holding it wore thick gloves to protect himself.

Old Man Simmons had finished with the needles, setting them down onto cloth someone held out, tying it and setting it on the floor. The needles would be cast out into the ocean later, back where the spirits belonged. The only thing left to do now was to seal the woman’s wounds and that was where the black pot came in.

Merlin watched as Simmons took the lid off the pot, putting on a pair of gloves before pulling what looked like a metal rod out. It was tinted red at one end and Merlin realised what the pot contained, why the need for the gloves. Inside were coals that had been heating the whole day through, coals that kept the rod pure and connected to the earth.

To stop the spirits re-entering the wounds, they were to cauterise them with the land and heat; two elements the ocean would never be.

Mary screamed as the hot iron hit her skin, burning over the flesh wounds, sealing her up with pain and terror. Old Man Simmons moved up her arms, dipping the rod back into the pot and pulling out another every now and again, making sure each and every needle-wound was covered. He then turned his attention to her hands, feet, legs; anywhere they’d touched.

And suddenly, amongst the wails of pain, they were done. The men gathered began to pack away things, shifting the coals away, taking the wrapped needles, moving the leeches in their jars, until it was only Simmons and Mary who was still strapped to her chair and slumped in misery.

Hunith was clutching at Merlin, tears in her eyes. A quick look around the square showed many others in the same condition, some shaking their heads or turned away, others with handkerchiefs to their eyes and some with glistening tears on their cheeks.

Simmons was looking around the group now, his eyes raking over them all, scanning as if he was searching for someone in particular.

“You, boy!” Old Man Simmons called, his finger pointing shakily at Merlin. Hunith’s grip tightened on his bicep, her head jerking to the side slightly as her eyes widened.

“Now!” Simmons called again, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and looking through the crowd. Merlin had no choice but to obey and so he wrenched his arm from Hunith’s grip, looking back at her apologetically.

Heart beating wildly in his chest, Merlin came up to stand before the oldest man in the village, staring at him blankly. Whatever he wanted, Merlin would oblige, but he didn’t have to be polite about it. What he’d just done, what they’d all just witnessed, was barbaric, even if these spirits had been driven away.

Merlin had never been raised on stories of the Ocean Spirits. He’d been raised on old stories, lost stories now, and Hunith had never let him see an exorcism before. Now he’d seen it, he wished that he hadn’t, but wasn’t that the way with all terrible things?

“Untie her and take her back to the hall. Give her purified water and nothing else,” Simmons barked before he turned, ushering people away with his arms spread wide. “The deed has been done; we must leave her to heal. If her soul is untainted by the Spirits then she will live.”

Resisting the urge to say something, Merlin turned to the slumped woman, shakily moving to untie the knots. He could feel a few people watching him, but Simmons’ words had worked wonders and the majority of the crowd were moving away, crossing their fingers that Mary’s soul was pure and untouched by the Ocean.

Loosening the ties on her ankles first, Merlin moved to the side a little, expecting her to lash out. Instead her feet slumped along the ground and she groaned, eyes opening just a slit to see what was happening.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered, bending down to work on her wrist ties. “For what they did, I’m so sorry.”

Her hands fell into her lap as he released her arms and Mary tried to open her eyes again. Her arms and legs, the parts that were still open to the world at least, were beginning to crust with her blood, dark pink and pale in equal measure, patches covering her whole body.

It was no wonder that Hunith had never let him go to one of these before. For a household that didn’t believe in Spirits, this was just torture on another person. Merlin couldn’t see how this would help anyone and it was no surprise that not many people survived the process. It wasn’t about the strength of their spirit, but the amount an already grieving person could take before they shut down.

Mary muttered something quietly, too quietly for Merlin to hear. She obviously couldn’t walk, so he moved an arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, hoisting her up into his arms. She was surprisingly light, just skin and bones, and Merlin was able to carry her through the rain easily.

“You can’t clean her,” Hunith whispered in his ear, Merlin pausing by her. She was one of the last people left in the square, the last mingling villagers looking at Merlin with a shared sentiment of sorrow.

“Simmons will want to check she’s clean tomorrow and they need to see the colour of the blood. She has to stay dirty.”

Merlin nodded to the words, silent in fury. Mary was unlikely to last the night and he couldn’t even give her comfort of new clothes and a warm bath. She had to die in the cold depths of her grief, alone and un-human.

Because that was what this process was. It wasn’t to purify her soul or cleanse her of demons; it was to make her inhuman. To cause her pain and humiliation when all she’d done was lose her son; the only person she’d had left.

The Ocean had turned them to this. Living alone and isolated, the only people left in the entire world as far as they all knew, had turned them sour. Where they should have welcomed this sad, afraid woman, they’d cast her out; made her grief something they couldn’t relate to; belittled and dehumanised her.

And what had Merlin done? He’d stood there and watched, just like the rest of them.

The door to the village hall was opened already and Merlin was able to kick it shut. Most likely everyone had shut themselves away, hiding from the rain as it worsened, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Old Man Simmons had done enough damage and there was no telling how Mary would react if she saw him, and Merlin didn’t want to cause her any more harm.

“I’m going to put you down on the ground for a moment okay?” Mary didn’t say anything, staring blankly away, eyes filmed over and unresponsive. She was still breathing, but Merlin knew that she didn’t have much longer. Why stay gripping to a world that had caused you so much pain?

At the back of the hall, there was another room joined to a kitchen. In there Merlin found some ratty blankets, tucked at the back of a cupboard, but they would do. Just a little something to warm her, something to soften the ground.

“I’m going to stay with you, alright?” It was the least he could do. He couldn’t leave her alone, not after all she’d been through. She didn’t respond, but Merlin doubted she would again, too lost in memories as she was.

Shifting the blankets around, Merlin laid two on the ground before picking Mary back up, placing her against the wall and on top of the blankets. He could hear the rain beating against the walls outside, but Merlin simply placed the remaining blankets over them, sitting by her side and offering what contact he could. It was going to be a long night, but he could sacrifice it for her.

What seemed like hours later and could have easily been minutes, Mary moved her hand shakily, clutching at Merlin’s wrist. Her head turned slowly to him, her breath rasping out between her lips, giving him an indication of how much effort these simple movements caused her.

“You…” she swallowed thickly, her eyes fluttering closed. “Power… you need…” Her hand gripped tighter and Merlin moved towards her.

“Don’t try to talk, it’s okay, I’ll stay here,” he said, his other hand coming to settle over hers, stroking the fragile skin.

“No, you…” her jaw tightened at the words, too much effort by now. Her other hand rose shakily until it pressed against Merlin’s face, her palm covering his eye.

‘Forgive me for the intrusion,’ a voice whispered, one he’d only ever heard wracked with pain and screams. He tried to pull back, dropping her other hand quickly.

“How are you doing that? What are you doing?” Merlin still had her fingers pressed to his forehead and so heard her reply.

‘It’s easier for me to use up my power than physically talk. Please Emrys, listen to me.’ Her voice was fading so Merlin listened, heart pounding in his ears.

‘Your only hope lies with the sky cities. My son and I… we’d planned for Camelot, but we didn’t have time to…’ she trailed off, words lost. It didn’t matter what they’d planned, no one ever had time for their plans anymore.

‘They are real,’ she persisted, eyes wide and clear, strong despite her frail body. ‘You must save them all; you’re the only one who can.’

Her hand slipped down until it rested on her cheek, Merlin’s hand stopping its fall.

‘Thank you for being with me. Not many people would have and that’s why I know…’

Merlin’s eyes widened as her fingers relaxed, curling on themselves. It was too late to find out what she’d meant, but the words… oh the words. So terrible and yet so full of hope. Just three words- sky, cities, Camelot - but they meant so much more.

Camelot was real, not just a product of his mind. Mary had sped up her death by using her power – no, not power, her magic, because it had to be magic – to tell him things that no one else would be able to, to give Merlin the chance to save so many people.

She wanted him to save the people who had caused her death. Not many people would be willing to do such a thing but Mary Collins...

He looked down to her face, eyes closed and at peace for the first time since she’d come to Ealdor. She was so small, frail and lonely, just how they all were in the end when the ocean had finally beaten them into submission. They all died alone, taunted by the spirits that had plagued their whole lives.

There was a way out now though; an escape for the last people of the lands, a future. The future before had always just been the next day, the next hour in the worst of storms. You couldn’t get used to safety on the Islands, knowing the cruelty of the sea.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered as he cradled Mary’s head, setting her gently down on the ground.

He wished he could do more for her, but he knew Old Man Simmons wouldn’t have allowed him this time, let alone being there while she had died. Knowing the man he’d say that Merlin too was possessed by spirits and put him through the exorcism, something Merlin never wanted to see again, let alone experience for himself.

Even though he didn’t believe in the gods of the past Merlin hoped that Mary had found her peace and been reunited with her son. No one wanted to think they had to be alone for the rest of eternity, left alone as a rotting corpse as your life amounted to nothing.

Rain was beating down heavily outside, lightning forking across the sky. As Merlin ran from the hall, his feet slipped over wet cobblestones, his knees cracking as they hit the ground. He hissed in pain, hair plastered to his face as he struggled up again, heading for the road home. While it wasn’t a particularly long journey, the pathways had gathered streams of water, turning them into small, fast-flowing channels. It was hard work, especially when the rain didn’t let up against you, beating against every inch it could.

Hunith was waiting by the door as he drew closer, waving him in frantically. She was dressed in a long coat, a sign that she’d been waiting for him a while now, and she pulled him inside as soon as she could, wrapping her arms around him and bolting the door.

“Oh sweetheart,” she said, taking in his face as she pulled back. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before passing him a towel she’d hung on the banister. “Go get changed and I’ll make you some tea. If you’d like to talk about it we can or you can go to sleep, it’s up to you.”

There were times when Merlin hated Hunith, as any child could hate their mother, but she’d made it so hard to even dislike her that the times were few, even counting early puberty. She could read Merlin like a book, know how he was feeling (like tonight) with a simple hug and a look. It was her job, she said, but even so Merlin didn’t know anyone else he’d rather get comfort from or who understood him as deeply as she did.

Merlin moved upstairs with a mission. He changed quickly, throwing his wet clothing into a pile on the floor, discarding them for thick pyjamas. That done, he reached under the bed, feeling around for the stone he hadn’t touched for weeks.

It was as dark as he could remember, mysterious and compelling all at the same time. Looking into the surface, Merlin wished as hard as he could, trying to recall what the gardens he’d landed in before looked like, what they’d felt like, what the dragon had said even, simply clutching at anything he could.

The stone remained just a stone though and Merlin sighed, dropping it on to his pillow and running his hands through his hair. Despite what Mary had said maybe he wasn’t meant to save them all. Maybe he was just an average boy from Ealdor that she’d been confused about because of what she’d been through. He’d been the only one to be kind to her after all and surely she must have been confused after all she’d been through.

Merlin then remembered the pull that had caused him to go into the stone in the first place. The pull had come from him, he knew that much, and he’d felt it in a very small amount when Mary had pressed her fingers to his temple. That pull, that whisper of magic, might be the key to getting into the other-world.

Picking the stone up once again and sitting cross-legged on the bed, Merlin looked into the stone again. He couldn’t feel anything so he closed his eyes, gripping the stone tightly as he searched inside himself, looking for any sign that he contained a hint of magic. Surely it had to feel different to the rest of him, have a label or a sign on or something just to show it was there. No matter how far he dug, or whatever he thought, though, Merlin couldn’t find anything.

Flopping back on the bed so that his feet rested on his pillow, Merlin set the stone on his stomach. He sighed, closing his eyes again, and letting his thoughts drift.

He felt it. There, in the space between his rib cage and heart, curled into a ball and shining. It wasn’t a large ball, but it was warm and inviting, as if it was a safe haven he’d returned to time and time again. Strangely it didn’t send Merlin clutching at the stone, trying to get back into Camelot, but he took time to feel the magic, understand it and allow it to move out from a ball.

He didn’t know where it could have come from, whether it was a mutation or genetic, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter where the magic came from, but what he used if for. He was going to use it to free them all and that was all that mattered. He was going to use it to pave their way to Camelot; to save everyone on this wretched little island no matter the cost.

Of course, when Merlin opened his eyes to go and talk to his mother, he opened them to a dark, ruined garden, a few paces away from the broken throne and the dragon from before. Like before it was coiled around the throne, eyes staring unblinkingly at Merlin.

“Um… hello?” he began, wondering if the dragon remembered him. It lifted its head, sliding off of the back of the throne and onto the seat, eyes scanning over Merlin’s body.

“You came back then,” it said matter-of-factly, almost as if Merlin’s return was to be expected.

He nodded at the dragon, moving to sit on the floor. He needed answers before the connection ran out and he wasn’t going to be distracted by an overgrown lizard repeating itself over his family name.

“I need your help,” he said to the dragon, drawing a wide-eyed look in return.

“You need help?” The dragon left the throne, landing on its legs and curling its wings up, moving to sit in front of Merlin. He could almost see every scale, silver-lined and armour-like.

“I need to know how to get to Camelot.” The dragon peered into him, eyes narrowed.

“You really live on Ealdor?” it asked, ignoring what Merlin needed yet again.

Silence passed between the two of them for a moment, eerie in the absence of waves, but it somehow felt natural to Merlin, as if he’d been sky-born his whole life. What was it like to live with the roar of the wind in your ears rather than the drum of the sea? Merlin wanted to know, needed to know, if only the dragon could help.

“Yes and I need to know how to get to Camelot so I can save my people.”

The dragon looked as if it was struggling with itself for a moment before it moved back slowly, retreating to the throne.

“Your people,” it muttered, a strange undertone to its words, “your people need more than saving. One man can’t do it alone.”

Merlin could feel the connection thinning, his grip on his magic fading.

“What do you mean?” he said, standing.

“I mean that things aren’t always as they appear.” The dragon looked away, eyes downcast. “Your people need you Emrys and you need to come to Camelot before your time runs out.”

Merlin could practically feel the urgency in the words, how the dragon needed him to do this.

“Ask…” the connection was fading now, the Queen’s gardens falling into true darkness, the same inky black of the stone. “Find… dragon!”

The connection dropped and Merlin found himself looking up at the ceiling of his home, the sound of waves beating against his skull once again. The stone was in his hand, warm, and he tucked it under his pillow carefully, keeping it safe.

Before Merlin left the room to join Hunith, he knew two things. One; he was magical, had a special power, could do extraordinary things, take whatever definition you liked. Two; he needed to go to Camelot and find the dragon, show him the proof that he’d saved the last of the Islanders.

Though first, he needed to convince them that Camelot was real and that hope wasn’t just a myth. Sky cities existed and Merlin was going to take them there, whether they wanted it or not.

  
**.**   


The storm raged harder and louder outside, lasting well over two weeks. While storms of that length weren’t uncommon, they often let up at some point. This one hadn’t, battering against Ealdor, and Merlin shared Hunith’s fears when she said that perhaps this time it was the end.

Desperate for answers, Merlin had entered Camelot through the stone again, growing with his magic and familiarising himself with the power. If he was correct, then he had been given the magic for a reason. He was to save them all, but how could he when he was stuck inside, the storms already laughing at his efforts. He needed help from Camelot, but upon returning – each and every time – he found it empty.

The dragon had gone, leaving the Queen’s gardens barren and dark. He was alone now, left with all this power and nothing to do. It seemed like a fool’s task, trying to save so many people, but they all had to try.

If the storm ever let up that was.

In the dark of night, the only sound the creaking of the house and the winds howling outside. Hunith stood in the kitchen, staring at the wall as Merlin sat down at the table, flipping through an old magazine, one of the ones that had been printed almost two millennia ago. It was a rare edition and maybe would have fetched a high price if the floods hadn’t come, but it was just a book of pictures now. Nice to look at and good for the memories, but useless otherwise.

“What are we going to do?” Hunith asked quietly, more to herself than Merlin.

He turned in his chair, taking in his mother’s tired features and the lines on her face. She’d been through so much in her life. Merlin couldn’t let her die, not when he had a means to save her.

“I can get us to the Sky Cities,” he said, looking in earnest into Hunith’s eyes as she turned her attention to him.

“Merlin, what do you mean?” Her eyebrows drew into a worried furrow and Merlin told her to wait a moment, bounding upstairs to fetch the Obsidian, feet pounding along the floor in time to the wind battering the side of the house.

“This,” he replied when he’d returned to the kitchen, setting the stone down on the table and looking back to his mum.

“It’s a rock,” she said, eyes darting between it and her son.

Merlin nodded, “I know that. But it’s not just any old rock… you can see things in it. There’s… this power and I know, I know I sound crazy, but it’s like magic or something.” Merlin swallowed, moving to his chair, crouching on it with his legs tucked beneath him.

“I have the power in me too and there must have been a connection.” It felt liberating to be able to talk to someone about his power, to admit there was something different about him. If Mary Collins hadn’t spoken to him, proved that this magic was beyond his imagination and a rock, Merlin would never have accepted it.

“Magic?” Hunith asked; her face pale. “A power?”

Merlin nodded again, “I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. I saw a place that had no ocean. There weren’t any storms or waves or fear… I went to Camelot, one of the Sky Cities.” Merlin looked down at the Obsidian and didn’t hear the sharp intake of breath Hunith drew. “There was a dragon there and he told me that I needed to save my people.”

“Your people?” Hunith parroted, hands gripping the kitchen counter.

“The people of Ealdor. I know they’re not mine, but if I can save them then I will. It’s why I was born with this power, it’s the reason I have this magic.” Merlin took the stone in his hands, holding it out to Hunith.

“Look at it. It doesn’t cast a reflection so you can’t say it’s an ordinary stone. Magic exists, but the more important thing is-“

“I know it exists,” Hunith said quietly, not moving from her post and refusing to touch the stone.

For his part, Merlin’s eyes widened. In the lull of conversation, the wind picked up, howling through the house. A draught passed through the kitchen, sending a chill down Merlin’s spine.

“How do you know?” he asked innocently, though he almost feared the answer. It was easy to connect things together and it was obvious Hunith didn’t have magic herself.

“Merlin-“ she began, but was cut off.

“No, I want to know.” He stood, stone gripped tightly in his hand. “I need to know.”

For a moment, Hunith looked pained, turning away to face the shuttered window. Merlin was about to question her himself when she looked back, eyes slightly pink, but free of tears.

“Your father wasn’t born here.” Merlin nodded; that wasn’t exactly a secret. He’d heard stories of the place his father had come from, an island that had fallen fate to the sea, but had once held the last forest.

“He…” Hunith looked down, refusing to meet Merlin’s eye. “He fled Camelot.”

Even the wind seemed to drop at her words, giving way to the closest thing to silence Merlin had ever heard outside of the stone-world. His father, a man it seemed he had never known, had fled the Sky Cities? The very places that would save them?

“Wh…” he couldn’t finish the sentence, shaking his head lightly.

“I don’t know why,” Hunith continued, moving until she sat at the table, next to Merlin’s place. “He never told me, but… he’d get a look in his eye, as if he’d seen terrible things Merlin.”

Hunith reached for his hand, but Merlin moved his arms down to his side, sinking into his chair again. His eyes were drawn to the table, fixed on a knot of wood in the pattern, determinedly avoiding his mother.

All his life he’d been told lies. His father had died (oh but was he really dead? Maybe he’d just swanned off back to Camelot, seeing as it was his birthplace) when he was young, but Hunith had plied Merlin with stories, wonderful tales of the last human who had seen the forests. Was it all a joke? A big lie? Why not just tell the truth.

Maybe it showed on his face, for Hunith continued, “He couldn’t tell anyone, not even I knew until he was sure he could trust me.” She tucked her hands in front of her, fingers interlinked and pale where they clutched against each other. “Old Simmons would have rather exorcised him, the man who’d washed up with only a sack of books and the clothes on his back than believe he’d come from Camelot. You know what Simmons is like and…” Hunith drew in a breath.

While Merlin didn’t like seeing her like this – it was clear the memories were painful – he needed to know. He wasn’t just of the Lands anymore, but of the Sky, of Camelot of all places. Maybe that was why the Obsidian had chosen to show him the only hope they had, knowing he was kin, despite it being in a roundabout way.

“When you were a baby you could move things, do things…” Merlin jerked his head up to stare at her, eyes wide. “I was out of my mind with worry, thinking maybe Old Simmons was right after all and the Ocean Spirits had gotten to you, but Balinor just winked at me. He told me it was okay, that while he hadn’t shown his talents so early, it was a good sign.”

There weren’t any lies in her words this time and it would offer an explanation to the power he had, but it still didn’t account for what she’d done.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Rain beat against the window and Hunith reached her hands out again, receiving yet another blunted dismissal.

“Things changed. You didn’t use your magic at all after Balinor died and I guess I hoped that that was the end of it, for your sake.”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s not good enough, though I suppose I should at least thank you for letting me know he’s actually dead. At least there was something you didn’t lie to me about!”

The words stung his own throat as they came out, but he was unable to stop them. Hunith looked as though she had been slapped across the cheek before she looked down, brows tightening as she clearly fought back tears.

Guilt wracked through Merlin and he reached for her hands.

“Mum,” he began softly, leaning forwards. “I’m sorry mum, I didn’t mean to get so-“

“It’s not your fault.” She looked up, unlocking her hands and moving to hold her son’s. “You’re right; I should have told you, and I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want you hurt. Simmons would have done it even if you were a baby.”

Merlin shifted his chair, the bottom of the legs scraping noisily against the floor. He moved until he was next to her and Hunith wrapped an arm around him, holding him tightly and kissing his hair.

“I didn’t want to lie, but I thought it was gone. After your father died I just thought…” Merlin tucked his head against her, savouring the moment. Sometimes there wasn’t time for closeness in this way and sometimes you just needed to be held by someone who loved you.

“I didn’t mean to get so angry,” he muttered into her shoulder, but Hunith simply kissed the side of his head again and drew back.

“Let’s see that stone then. You said it showed you Camelot?” Merlin pressed the stone into her free hand, the other arm still wrapped around his shoulders.

“Your father mentioned the Seeing Stones. He said they were crafted out of the Old World stone obsidian, but bathed in magic by the High Priestesses and creatures of the Old Religion.” She turned the stone in her hand, running a thumb over the smooth surface. “They were said never to reflect, but to show and reveal instead.”

Merlin waited patiently, waiting to see if his father had disclosed anything else on the stones.

“He said that most of them had been lost in the Floods, but the last of the stones were preserved even though the Old Religion, along with all the others, had practically died out. The only known Obsidians in existence were placed under royal care.” Hunith set the stone on the table.

“The last person to take over their care was Queen Ygraine. I think your father knew her a little, perhaps worked for her, but he always spoke fondly of her. She was a just woman, he said, fair and willing to dirty her knees if her people needed it.” Hunith’s eyes crinkled at the corners, remembering the fond image of a queen.

“She died around the same time your father left Camelot I think. He never said anything, but I managed to piece enough together from his stories.” The rain filled in the pauses Hunith left, completing the tale. What was a story that was not surrounded by the Ocean? It wasn’t a proper story without the rain or the waves every Islander said.

“I suppose one of them was lost after she died. Unless… where did you get it?” Hunith let her arm drop as she turned; eyes warm.  
No matter what lies she had told, what stories she had conjured, Merlin could never hate her. All anger seeped out of him when he thought of what she’d been through, terrified of having her son put through an exorcism. And he’d seen it now so he could imagine what the fear would feel like.

“It was washed up, about a year ago now,” Merlin said, trying to think of dates in his head.

Hunith nodded. “It’s funny how these things happen. Out of all the places that stone could have ended up and it ended up here.”  
She rose from her chair, sighing deeply. “Do you think going to Camelot will save us?” she asked softly, catching Merlin’s eye.  
“Yes,” he said, knowing that they had to. They couldn’t stay on Ealdor forever, especially with this latest storm.

“Then I’ll follow you. Whatever you saw, I trust in your judgement. I love you and your father loved you, but sometimes we have to trust you instead of acting like a parent.” Hunith sighed again. “I want you safe, I really do, but I don’t even know what safe is anymore. If Camelot can offer us safety then I’ll take it, and I know you can take us there.”

Responsibility folded itself like a cloak around Merlin, but it wasn’t a heavy burden. As Hunith made her way to bed, Merlin began his plans, one hand curled around the Obsidian and the other clenched into a fist. He could save them, he would save them, and he’d return the Emrys family to Camelot.

Maybe the dragon had heard of his family, perhaps there were cousins or grandparents stowed away with the royals and nobility of Camelot. It was a dream, yes, but if his father had come from the Sky City then who was to say there couldn’t be more of them? A proper family, free from the horrors of the sea and born only from the Sky, ready to welcome them into Camelot.

He fell asleep at the kitchen table and woke to a quieter world, the rain pattering against the house, almost lovingly. Merlin moved upstairs to change clothes quickly, planning to run into town to pick up supplies. Hunith was still asleep and so he left a brief note, taking hand-woven bags with him, knowing he’d need to pick up quite a few things.

The walk to the main town was calm, just light rain and the waves joining him. The calm was shattered, however, as Merlin moved into the town. People were gathered around the centre and, for a terrible moment, Merlin wondered if there was another exorcism going on, but the crowd shifted and Merlin recognised a familiar face.

“What’s going on?” Merlin asked as he slid next to Will, shifting the bags onto one side.

Will turned to him, a serious look on his face. “The whole lower segments of the island have gone,” he replied emotionlessly. “They’re the only people who managed to get out before…”

He didn’t need to say what had happened. Their small population had drawn ever smaller, lives destroyed in a few crushing waves, families and friends lost to the ocean, again.

“Old Man Simmons wants everyone to meet in the hall at midday, no matter the weather.” Will looked up to the sky and Merlin followed his gaze. The sky looked as if it would hold out with just a small amount of rain, but it was hard to predict weather, especially after a large storm like the one that had just passed over them.

“Who died and made him king,” Merlin muttered under his breath, drawing a smile from Will. They’d never subscribed to the policy that the eldest became the village leader (unofficial, because technically no villager had more power than another – just a crock of bull though really) and had made that point clear to Simmons a few times.

This was different though. If they were drawing a meeting for the whole village then Merlin could seize the chance and discuss travelling to Camelot. What other hope did they have? It was obvious the floods weren’t going to lessen and that their time was finally up. What else could they do but seek another home like everyone else who had come to Ealdor had been?

Ealdor was dying and it was time to move on. They either moved on or they died, that much was simple.

Merlin moved away from the sobbing people in the square and collecting supplies. Hunith had breakfast ready by the time he was home and she smiled sadly at the meagre supplies he had collected. He hadn’t the heart to tell her that more of Ealdor had been lost, so he waited until after breakfast, announcing it as he would that his hair was brown.

She gave no outward reaction, but Merlin knew how she felt inside. They all felt it, the despair and pain of loss, the hopelessness.

“You have to talk to them,” she said as she began washing up the dishes, back to Merlin but words ringing clear.

“I will,” Merlin promised, reaching into his trouser pocket and running a hand over the smooth stone of the Obsidian. He had to or else they’d all die, and he couldn’t let that happen. Not now he had a purpose and a way to help. What else was his magic for if not to save these people? Even a dragon (or a projection of a dragon, but that was delving into trivialities) had told him his purpose and now was the perfect time to prove he could do it.

Moving to help Hunith clean up, Merlin began forming how he’d brooch the subject.

  
**.**   


In the end, Merlin didn’t need to use any of the plans he’d formulated. It was Old Man Simmons who brought the topic up, shoving an old newspaper print in peoples’ faces, gesticulating wildly.

“How do we know they exist?” someone called from the mass in the hall, pressed together as if they could save each other by being close.

“The alternative it to stay here,” Simmons replied, face stern. “I’m not saying we should leave, but it’s something to consider. William brought me his scrapbook and there is evidence that these Sky Cities exist.”

The crowd were still sceptical, but Merlin met Will’s eyes through the crowd and acknowledged him with a nod. He believed him now and he’d be able to convince more people than the others simply because he knew what it felt like to be in their position.

“He’s right,” Merlin said, pushing forwards until he stood next to Old Man Simmons, the man looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “We have to think about our future and it’s clear that we can’t stay here. These Sky Cities exist, they were built years back-“

“Bet they’re crumbling!” someone shouted and a murmur of agreements set up around the room, passing around like Chinese whispers.

“They’ll just be death traps!” another voice called out, again to a chorus of agreement.

“Or the Spirits will eat us before we even get there,” came a third objection and Merlin couldn’t stand anymore.

“So what? We just sit here and wait until the water hits our doorsteps? Sit miserably as the people we love drown?” Silence followed his words, but Merlin wasn’t done. “We’re the last of the Lands and we’re going to let ourselves be taken by the Great Ocean?”

As much as he’d love to say his words were met with cheers and nods, only one or two appeared to outwardly agree. The rest simply looked at Merlin, shaking their heads and muttering about his age, full of hope and delusional.

“The boy’s right,” Simmons stated, eyes raking over the villagers. The atmosphere changed, from the disbelief of Merlin’s words to a slight respect for Simmons.

Even though Merlin and Will didn’t think he was much of anything, his age held precedence over the rest of the villagers it seemed. He had to be wise to have lived that long perhaps, though Merlin didn’t subscribe to that one bit.

Still, if Simmons could convince them when Merlin could not… maybe he wasn’t supposed to save them in an obvious way. Magic wasn’t exactly a known subject so perhaps he was supposed to do things quietly, sneak around like a superhero from the Old World.

“I’m not asking you all to stay or all to leave; you need to make your choice. We can’t keep living here and the tides are rising. I say we have a year, year and a half if we’re lucky.” He took a shuddering breath, old bones creaking as he stood up straighter, addressing everyone.

“In three days, boats will set off in search of the Sky Cities. Whether or not you choose to be on those boats is up to you, but they will be leaving.” The hall broke out into private discussions as Simmons finished, but he didn’t silence them.

Instead, he looked at Merlin, watery eyes widening so he could look at him squarely.

“William’s going,” he said, looking Merlin up and down. “And I suppose you will be too?”

He’d never really spoken to Simmons before, instead simply built him up as a fear imposing figure, one of ultimate authority and control over the village. To children testing the waters of their society, Simmons had been just another rung on the ladder to annoy when they could, riling the man up in the name of fun.

Now though, Merlin could see the man for who he was. There was no awe-inspiring figure, no frightening leader. Instead, here was a man who had lost so many things and was tired. He could see a man who had tried his best to look after the remaining villagers even though it was a lost cause.

And while he was flawed (the exorcisms and his mannerisms to name just two things), he cared for his friends and family, the people who he’d seen grow and loved. He was accepting the fact that Ealdor had no future and making people choose, because that’s what they would have to do in the end. Everyone had to choose whether they would die here on Ealdor or whether they’d take a chance, but they’d all assumed they could make that decision later rather than now.

Too late, time was up. Simmons had seen it, Will had been seeing it for months and Merlin… Merlin (like so many others) had seen it, but refused to accept it. Now there wasn’t an alternative. He had to accept it because otherwise the choice would be taken from his hands and he’d die.

"I know our future can't rest here," he replied, hoping that Simmons could see his sincerity.

The old man stared at him a moment longer before he nodded.

"Good. The new world needs people like you, people who are strong enough to speak out. William's an example too, though he's still unable to let go of the past completely." Simmons looked over to the side where Will was talking to a group of people, his scrapbook in his hands and face earnest.

His words were true. There would always be a part of Will that resented the Oceans for taking his family. They had all lost people, but Will had never been able to accept that their deaths were simple tragedies, one of many. He didn't mourn them like others mourned their losses, but took it as a more personal offence, looking to blame instead of accepting they were gone. And as ridiculous as it was to say that Will blamed the sea itself, it was a fact. Even Simmons could see it.

"We will meet here again tomorrow noon. It is your choice whether you wish to stay or go, but if you stay, you know how everything will end. Leaving the island at least gives you a chance." Simmons looked over the crowd before shuffling off, into the light rain.

Conversation exploded through the hall, villagers discussing the news. Who was going to leave? Should they leave? Was anyone going to stay? Hundreds of questions were thrown into the air and the whole way through, Merlin focused on Will, making his way to his friend's side.

"You set this up?" Merlin asked and Will turned to him, shaking his head.

"Very funny. Nah, I would have been laughed at, you know what popular opinion of me is like." Merlin had to concede to that; Will was known as a troublemaker. "Simmons came over to mine after your mum talked to him. She must have been pretty persuasive for him to agree, what did she say?" Will looked to him, eyes wide with curiosity.

"She talked to him?" While it was true Hunith had collected their last set of supplies while Merlin had offered to mend one of the shutters, she hadn't mentioned even seeing Simmons, let alone talking to him.

"She didn't tell you?" Will asked, raising an eyebrow. To Merlin's shake of the head, he continued. "Simmons wouldn't tell me everything, but he said that he couldn't disagree with anything she said." He shrugged and added, "Whatever that means."

A few angered voices broke out and Merlin risked a glance over, noticing the way the room had split a little, most of the villagers on the more argumentative side. It was clear that not everyone was happy with the suggestion and it looked as though most people were happier to stay here rather than try to find Camelot.

"Come on," Will said, tugging at Merlin's sleeve and leading them out of the hall. There was no one to miss them; Hunith hadn't been at the meeting, but sent Merlin for their house.

Outside, the rain still pattered down, but it was gentle, calming. While it could still strike fear in his heart, Merlin loved the rain. He loved the ocean and the storms that raged overhead, though not many people would agree with him. There was just something beautiful about the fall of the rain and the rise of the waves, even though he knew first-hand how deadly they could turn.

Will led them down to the shore. It had crept closer, to the outskirts of town now. A few scrubby bushes half-hid an old, wooden bench, but the branches were easily swept back and they sat, staring out into the darkness.

The horizon stretched on forever, all around Ealdor without a hint of Camelot. Merlin wondered which way it was, wondered if Hunith maybe knew.

Doubts began to creep in; after all, he knew nothing about Camelot, not even the direction they needed to go. Had Merlin really just believed they could set sail and they'd have reached Camelot? Had he planned to use his magic to guide them somehow when all he could do was force a stone to show him things?

Even though Hunith had admitted that Merlin had moved objects and 'other things' when he was small, such inclinations of power hadn't risen up again, and Merlin was beginning to think he'd simply lost the ability somehow.

"It's going to be weird," Will began, eyes fixed out to the horizon. "I mean, this is all we have, isn't it?"

Merlin didn't say anything. There wasn't anything he could say, not really.

"I know staying here will just end with us dying, but I'm scared." Merlin nodded to that, even though Will couldn't see him.

A few clouds above shifted, throwing weak light from what moon they could see over the waves. The waters were calm today, content with the rain and their decision to leave.

"I wonder what this city'll be like," Will said softly. At that point, Merlin knew that he had to tell Will about what he'd seen, regardless of Hunith asking him not to tell anyone, to keep his powers secret.

"It's beautiful," Merlin began and Will's head snapped round to face him. "I mean, I've only seen the ruined part, but that was beautiful. Marble and white, like all the pictures in those books and stuff." Refusing to look at his friend, Merlin's eyes tracked the light from the moon as it shimmered on the waves.

"I have this power." Merlin turned to Will now, wishing he had the stone on him so he could show it. "You know those old stories about magic and fairies?"

Will scoffed, "What, you're a fairy? I know you're not chasing the girls around and all, but 'fairy' is such a derogatory term-"

"Shut up," Merlin said with a smile, pushing against Will's shoulder. Somehow, no matter what happened, Will was always able to revert back to his basic snark and joke, something Merlin needed right now. "I meant that this power I have; it's magic. And I used it to look at Camelot, one of the Sky Cities."

He couldn't keep the hope from his voice, his wonder and amazement at what he'd seen bleeding through. He didn’t get a reply for a while, Will processing or thinking, or whatever it was he needed to do, eyes fixed once again out to the sea.

Eventually he spoke up. "I'll just about believe anything I think, but couldn't you have had a better power? Like, oh I don't know, something to stop the sea?"

While there was a grin to what he said, Merlin could hear the slight hope and pang of desperation.

Did he have the power to stop the seas? The dragon had told him he needed to come to Camelot, but if he could just stop the ocean churning, surely that was saving his people? And that, after all, was the main point of what the dragon had said.

"I don't know," he said, eyes raking over the ocean. He had to at least try, even though he didn't have the faintest idea how.

Somehow picking up on what Merlin was thinking, Will glanced between him and the waves, unsure for once.

For someone so full of hopes that it could happen, Will was strangely hesitant as Merlin stood, walking over the ragged line of rocks and broken tarmac until he reached the point where the tide rested. Toeing off his trainers, Merlin rolled his trousers up, stepping forwards and trying to reach for the ball of power in him.

"Merlin? What are you doing?" Will had a worried edge to his voice, but he remained at the edge of the water, trusting Merlin.

He could feel the ball of power now, resting in his chest. His feet slipped slightly on the rocks and Merlin wondered how far he'd have to travel before he'd find the sand that had been the shorelines of his childhood. It had to be quite far now, considering how much of Ealdor they'd lost over the years.

Merlin kept walking, ignoring how the sea water flowed past his rolled up trousers and through the material. He was knee-deep now and Will was calling for him, insulting him in a haggard tone. The ball of magic in his chest thrummed suddenly and Merlin stopped, knowing he was in one of the patches of moonlight.

There was a child's story that Hunith had recounted for Merlin again and again, of the moon goddess who took vengeance on the earth for stealing her lover. The details were lost, but it was a fanciful explanation for why the waters had risen, an explanation only a fairy tale could dream up.

Still, it was true that the moon controlled the waves and the oceans, though perhaps not to the extent of the amount of water. That was down to the melted ice, or so stories told. How could anyone know the truth when they were limited to an island? And maybe the truth wasn't so nice, best just to wrap it all up in a fanciful story and leave it there, for people to smile and dig around for how true it was; never really realising it was a story with almost no truth at all.

Standing under the curve of the moon now though, Merlin wondered if their earth had stolen away something precious from the moon. What had happened that they needed to be punished? So many people, so many lands, gone. It couldn't just be down to an excess of water, surely?

"Merlin!" Will shouted again, drawing Merlin's attention. The water around his thighs was cold, but not unbearably so. The current pulled at him a little, but the waves were mild tonight, pushing and pulling him gently. If the spirits existed, maybe they were welcoming him tonight, bathed in the light of the moon and full of magic.

There weren't any words he could say or incantations he could perform to stop the seas, but Merlin placed his hands in the water nonetheless. His magic rose up inside of him, flowing into his arms as he guided it, focusing on the sway of water under his palms.

For a moment, a glorious moment, Merlin thought he'd done it. Magic burned through his body and he could feel it in the water around him, a comforting glow. His eyes were shut, but he knew that the world had slowed, that the waves had ceased in their journey and calmed. He couldn't hear Will anymore, lost in the humming of his magic.

Then it dropped, suddenly and without warning. The waves resumed their movement, lapping around him and soaking through to his skin.

"Merlin you idiot!" Will's voice trailed over the water to Merlin and he turned, dropping the last tendrils of his magic as water sloshed around him.

Knowing that he hadn't stopped anything, that the waters would just keep on rising, Merlin started making his way back. Though he shouldn't be, he felt somewhat disappointed. He had felt something, and while he hadn't expected to stop the ocean itself, there should have been something more, a voice telling him what he was supposed to do if not stop the tides themselves.

"What the fuck were you doing!?" Will hissed as Merlin stepped onto land, shaking his feet. The rain had begun to fall heavier now, soaking through their clothes a little. Will's hair was flattened down over his frown and Merlin wondered what a sight he made, half-soaked from the sea and all parts damp.

"Trying to stop the sea," Merlin muttered, even though it was ridiculous.

"Giving me a heart attack is what you were doing, you complete wanker," Will growled, punching Merlin on the arm. "Who the hell just waltzes out into the Ocean - I don't care if it's not particularly strong tonight, it's still the bloody Ocean - and then says they were just trying to stop the sea!?"

Shrugging, Merlin shoved his socks and shoes back on, wincing as water soaked through the material of his socks, leaving his feet damp and unhappy. Will was still muttering about how crazy Merlin was, but he ignored him in favour of returning to the little bench.

"I mean it was impressive and all with the glowing, but couldn't you have waved around a stick here or something?" Merlin's attention turned back to Will.

"I glowed?" he asked. "And you're sure it wasn't the moon or anything?"

Will rolled his eyes. "I think I know what moonlight looks like and what glowing is. Seriously, you reflected off the water and everything. I bet someone from the village saw you and thought you were a spirit or something." He paused, considering what he'd just said. "Maybe we should get you to glow again, dress you up and pretend you are a spirit so you can convince everyone to leave?"

Giving a small snort of laughter, Merlin shifted on the bench until he leant against Will, closing his eyes for a moment.

"So you saw it?" Will asked quietly after a while, resting his head against Merlin's.

"Through a stone, yeah." Merlin opened his eyes slowly, wiggling his damp toes in his shoes with a grimace. "I couldn't hear the ocean at all."

"Is that really the first thing you thought?" was the slightly incredulous reply, as if Merlin was the only person in the world who would have thought something as 'terrible' as that. "Not, oh fuck I'm in a different world or anything?"

Shaking his head, Merlin was about to say he'd been a bit preoccupied when the dragon had arrived, but something stopped him. He hadn't even told his mother about the dragon and, for some reason, he just didn't want to talk about it with Will. It was a secret, a hidden treasure almost.

“Do you know what it’s like not to hear the Ocean? Not just covering your ears, but for it not to even be there?” Will was silent. “It’s amazing. Scary, but amazing. And the garden… I found out it was the garden belonging to the former queen. It was in ruins, but it would have been beautiful in its prime.”

Merlin could practically feel Will roll his eyes. “So while the rest of us are busy integrating with society, little Merlin’s going to be doing up this garden?”

Merlin lifted his head up, nudging Will in annoyance. “Yeah because they’d just let a refugee toy with the Queen’s garden.”

The word refugee came out easily enough, but it hadn’t made an impact until he’d said it. That was what they were going to be, homeless refugees, like so many of the people who had come to Ealdor. They were going to turn up on the shores of a tower hoping that they’d be accepted with open arms. It wasn’t hard to see why some people were against the idea, but what other choice did they have?

“We’ll all be together,” Will said and Merlin nodded slowly. “No matter what happens, at least we’ll all be together.” He gave a huff of laughter, “And a sorry bunch we’ll make!”

The rain began to pick up a little more and so they left, walking along the coast until they reached the part of the village where Will’s house was.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Will said.

“I can stay if you want, mum will know where I am,” Merlin offered. While Will had taken his news well, he wasn’t sure how he’d be in the morning. He was the kind of person who reacted quietly to big things, taking them away to digest.

But Will shook his head, waving Merlin off. “I’ll be fine. It hasn’t all sunk in, leaving Ealdor, you glowing and…” Will struggled for words, falling back on humour when he couldn’t find them. “And your new passion to become a gardener of course. I’d always pegged you as more the kind of person to cry over little animals though, but have fun with the roses and all.”

He clasped Merlin on the shoulder before moving off into the darkness, treading carefully along uneven paths to his house. Merlin watched him for a moment before looking towards the line of the sea and the pathway home. The coast would lead him to the bridge where he could climb up the bank and continue home directly, so he set off, trainers slopping into the water.

There was a flickering light in the windows of his house; Merlin noticed as he drew closer and when he entered, Hunith met him in the hallway.

“You spoke to Simmons?” he asked, shrugging off the jacket he’d worn.

“I told him about your father and what you’d seen.” Merlin wondered if he should have felt betrayed that she hadn’t discussed the revelation with him first, but he didn’t have the energy to care. At last they were going to move to safety and he had to protect his people. So what if Simmons knew what he could do? It would be easier than hiding his talents at least.

“Everyone’s meeting again at noon to decide. I don’t know if they’ll all go,” Merlin added on, moving into the kitchen and standing by the fire-heated oven for a moment. It was slightly warm from whatever Hunith had cooked for dinner and he rested against it, letting the heat seep through his wet clothes.

“You can’t force them, no matter what. Sometimes you have to just accept that people will always be people, even though you want to bash their heads in. Shift,” she said and Merlin scooted over, watching as Hunith pulled out a plate of meat stew from the oven.

“Your dinner.” She raked an eye over him before sighing. “Do you want to get changed?”

Merlin shook his head, reaching for the food instead. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was, but lunch had been a long time ago now.

“Some things never change,” Hunith muttered with a smile, placing cutlery down after the plate and kissing Merlin’s cheek.

“I’m off to bed, don’t stay up too late.” She moved off then, the stairs creaking as she walked up to her room.

Merlin ate in silence, eyes fixed on the window left bare of its shutters for once. While the rain was still pouring down the wind was gentle tonight and so Hunith had left of the storm shutters. It was a nice change, the night sky not something Merlin saw much of.

When he finished, Merlin washed up the plates and turned his attention away from the moon and the ocean, shuffling upstairs and getting into pyjamas. As he tucked himself in, his hand moved under his pillow, closing around the stone that he kept there. His magic hummed as it came into contact with the stone, calling out for him to descend into it, to fall through to Camelot, but he resisted, falling into dreams instead.

  
**.**   


After bustling through the wind and the rain, Hunith and Merlin moved into the sombre mood of the hall, packed in with the rest of the village. Simmons was standing at one end of the hall, stern eye keeping watch over the group as time ticked on. There was a small commotion just to the side of Merlin as Will pushed past, grinning as he took his place beside them.

"Afternoon," he drawled, smile still well in place. And it had every right to be there; this was what Will had wished for months now, to be seen as more than a troublemaker and be listened to.

Hunith leant over Merlin a little to talk to Will, "Come round ours for dinner tonight, okay? I think it might end up a bit of a rough night so after this, take Merlin and go get your stuff to stay over."

There was no room for argument in her tone and they all knew why. It would likely be the last night Will could sleep round their house and even though they had their hopes and dreams, there was every possibility that they'd never make it to Camelot.

When Simmons was satisfied that everyone was here, or at least one person from each household, he raised a hand, the hall quietening down. Will looked to him expectantly and Merlin noticed he had his fingers crossed, falling back on old world traditions to try and coax his luck.

"As I said yesterday, the Island is dying. You can choose to find salvation in the Sky Cities or you can stay here with the waters." He paused, taking in a deep breath. "I can't make you choose, but a decision has to be made today so preparations can start."

Unlike yesterday, no whispers broke out. The hall was silent as Old Man Simmons shuffled to the side, picking up Will's scrapbook. Merlin realised that he was going to use the empty pages at the back, yellowed with age though they were, to document who would stay and who would go.

"If you wish to travel to the Sky Cities, please come forward to write your name. No one is to leave until everyone has signed." Simmons waved the book about before placing it on the table he'd moved to the front.

No one moved, eyes looking around the room to see who would be the first. Not even Will moved, rooted to the ground with stares fixed on him. Simmons waited at the front, a rare pen clutched in his gnarled hands as he looked down on them, eyes raking over them all.

That morning, Merlin had placed the Obsidian in his pocket before he'd set out, for no reason other than he needed the reassurance that Camelot existed. Despite everything that he'd seen and the urge to leave Ealdor from both Mary Collins and the dragon, it was still hard to imagine that a place existed out there that could save them all.

As he remembered the stone in his pocket, Merlin slipped his hand around it, curling around the surface. This was what they were aiming to, the origin of this stone, their safety. His magic responded to the touch lazily, too used to connecting with the stone now, and it was that tingle that pushed him onwards, causing Merlin to walk up to the front of the room and take the pen.

While they had no modern technology, Hunith had made sure Merlin (and, by extension, Will) could read and write. Almost everyone on the Island could read and write, but not that many could do it as well as Hunith had taught them to.

The pen - a biro from years ago, quite possibly the last one in the world - didn't work as Merlin made to write his name and so he scribbled in circles, trying to blot the ink down. Behind him, he could feel the whole of the village's stare, but the pen ran and he signed his name simply, a murky blue against an old page.

Hunith and Will came up after, followed by a small collection of determined villagers, each signing their names and their families to the new world. Simmons looked at each of them and nodded, as though his personal praise meant so much. In a way it did, but that couldn't be the only reason why they had to leave Ealdor.

The page slowly filled up, names and families inking themselves into the scrapbook. Simmons turned a page and more signed their names, only a few clusters remaining unyielding.

"Anyone else?" Simmons called out to the room, only to shuffles and silence. No one else stepped forwards and then it was all over. The scrapbook was snapped shut, passed over to Will, who had moved to stand beside the old man when he'd spoken.

"Those who are going, you will need to organise supplies. Take enough for a long journey." Will nodded briskly to the words, flipping his book open again and taking over from Simmons.

"The journey looks to be set at around three to five days by boat, providing the sailing is fair. Take what you need and nothing more. Simmons and I will be going around tomorrow letting you know what you need to do, but tonight is just to get to terms with your decision." Will paused, ducking his head as he looked down at his book.

In the short space of a few days, Will had gone from a troublemaker to someone who had helped organise their escape from the village. He'd been recognised, something he'd craved for years.

Will joined them as they left; the village oddly devoid of human chatter. No one was talking, instead looking around, taking in all they could. It would be one of the last days some would ever spend here and the ones that chose to be left behind would never quite be the same.

"I need to go home and pack a few things up," Will said as they reached his turn off. "But I'll head up if the rain doesn't worsen for dinner, yeah?"

Hunith nodded. "I'm proud of you Will. You've done a great thing today."

With that, she left, leaving Merlin and Will alone. It was the first time since Merlin had revealed his magic that they'd been alone together and Merlin was slightly anxious.

"Please don't come up with something sappy to match your mum. She's wonderful and all, but it just wouldn't work for you." Will grinned, tucking his scrapbook under his arm more, trying to shield it against the rain.

"The most you'll ever get from me is a well done," Merlin muttered, narrowing his eyes as he looked up. "Will we even be able to sail? It looks like another storm's about to close in."

Will followed his eye line upwards, to the stony-grey clouds and the thick rain.

"Maybe," he said softly, sighing. "But I'd rather die out there than wait here and do nothing."

There was a silence between them, the rain pattering down and the waves sloshing against the shore, the music to their lives.

"Could you control it? With your magic, could you give us time to get there?" While he wasn't looking directly at Merlin, the words still carried a heavy weight, wrapping themselves around Merlin.

In all honesty, Merlin didn't know. He had done something last night, but what that actually was, he had no idea. Magic wasn't something he had learnt or read about, it was a carnal power inside of him. Hunith hadn't mentioned his magic other than a few discussions - mostly about what Merlin could do and what he'd been able to when he was younger - so there really was nothing for him to learn off the back from.

He could ask about his father, but Merlin had tried to bring the subject up a short while ago and hadn't been able to stand the sadness and guilt in Hunith's eyes. She still felt guilty about lying to him and even though he was still processing the news, still angry at her for keeping it from him, he didn't want her to blame herself. It wasn't what people did, not when you could die at any moment, as horrific and depressing as that sounded.

"I don't know," Merlin answered truthfully, looking behind them to the village square. "I don't know anything, not really."

What use was his magic when all it could do was connect with a stone to look at a crumbled garden? They knew Camelot existed thanks to Merlin's magic, but what use was it if they just died on the way there?

"I have all this power, I can feel it, but what good is it when I can't do anything?" He wasn't scared to admit these fears to Will. They shared almost everything (including the more unsavoury things such as Will's sex dreams) and this wasn't something Merlin could turn to Hunith about.

"I can't do anything, Will," Merlin said, his shoulders slumping. "I can't save us, either way."

Rain began to soak through to his skin as he waited for an answer.

"Merlin," Will began, turning his friend around until they faced each other. "We don't need you to save us. Whatever happens, whether we live or we die, where we choose to go... it's up to us. Your magic isn't supposed to guide every single one of us and it's already done so much."

Merlin met Will's eyes. He was smiling, open and honest.

"After all the stories we grew up on, you probably think you have this great destiny or something to save everyone, but we don't need it. You can't save everyone, but you've given us a way out." Will's voice was strong and Merlin wanted to believe him. He could have so easily too, except for the words of a dragon.

But Will didn't know about the dragon. No one knew about the dragon, the very same creature that had insisted he needed to save his people. Had he really done enough that it constituted as saving them?

"Go home, you're over thinking this. Just because you can glow in the dark doesn't give you supreme power over the world." Will laughed, but he meant everything in his words. "You're just an Islander and while we're fucking amazing, we're just normal people. I don't know why you have it in your head that you need to save us all, but we'll get by."

The words weren't kind, but they were said with good intent. Will cared for him, but he wouldn't buy into the fantasy that Merlin could save them all just because he had magic. To Will, Merlin was just his friend, just the Islander.

Will clasped him on the shoulder and nodded, telling him he'd be up later. Merlin watched his friend go before looking up, blinking through the rain, willing it to stop.

It didn't, even when Merlin reached for his ball of power.

  
**.**   


There were celebrations the night before they left, a great feast held inside of the village hall. Not everyone made it, some preferring to spend the last of their island life alone in their family homes, but Merlin, Will and Hunith were all present, laughing to old stories and anecdotes.

They returned home in good spirits, Hunith smiling as she linked arms with Merlin. Even though it was raining, spirits remained high for the pair and they sat down in the kitchen, going through the possessions they no longer needed, telling stories of their own.

"Remember this ladle?" Hunith said with a soft smile, picking up a wooden ladle from the kitchen cupboard. "It belonged to your great-grandmother, carved by a friend."

"Really?" Merlin asked, looking up from where he'd been cradling an old toy horse.

Hunith shook her head, "Not really. It probably was just in a pile of junk somewhere and my mum picked it up. She was like that." She paused, in memory of the family she had lost. "It's just nicer to think that everything has a story and that I can remember them all. Even after we're gone, all of this will remain. This house will just stand here until the water finally breaks it apart, but when you think of all the memories..."

She broke off, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter though. What matters is you and Will and the rest of the island. I love you, Merlin, and I don't need a house to prove it."

They went to bed shortly after, but sleep evaded Merlin. He held the Obsidian in his hands, feeling the rush and the call to Camelot, but he couldn't see anything. The dark surface remained just a surface, no calling to enter the new world of Camelot, no pull of the magic inside of the stone.

He fell asleep with the stone pressed up against his cheek and woke uncomfortably, the stone half under his pillow and half under his cheek. For a moment nothing connected and Merlin lay still in bed, listening to the waves outside and the light pattering of rain against his window. It was a calm day, good.

It all fell into place suddenly, like a ball dropping from a great height. Today they were to leave Ealdor, run the seas to Camelot.

Bolting out of bed, Merlin changed his clothes, stuffing his pyjamas into the bag he was taking, slinging it onto his back. He charged down the stairs, breathless as he entered the kitchen to a sombre Hunith, a small book clutched in her hands. She turned as Merlin entered, smiling.

"Here," she said, holding out the book. It was bound in dark leather, the pages worn and well-loved. "Your father came to the Island with a bag full of books. None of them were soaked through; he used a spell to keep them dry, keep them safe."

Hunith moved around the kitchen, keeping herself busy as she prepared breakfast.

"He loved that one more than the others. Story books, all of them, not a hint of magic amongst them so it's not exactly helpful," Hunith bit her lip, moving forward suddenly with her hands reaching for the book. "It's silly, just a storybook about dragons. You can just leave it."

Tucking the book against his chest, Merlin shook his head. "No, no I want to keep it."

Relief settled over his mother's face before she broke into a smile, moving to Merlin's side and pressing him into a motherly cuddle. Her own bag sat on the kitchen table and, after tucking the book into his rucksack, Merlin put his bag next to hers.

"We have time for breakfast before we have to go down," Hunith said, and they ate the last of their porridge, soaking in the last of their life here, their history of past generations - all of whom had lived here since the great floods.

It was hard for Merlin to leave, but he knew a little of what Camelot held and knew he had someone waiting for him. Hunith didn't know what was waiting for them except that it was a place her husband had fled and never talked about. What did it feel like to leave a safe haven - a family home - not knowing what you were about to face?

They did it though; together they left the house and their pasts, Hunith reaching for her son's hand as they walked. They were soon joined by other villagers, all making their way down to the coast, to the point at the shore where the fishing boats set off from. It was the most southern part of the island, a little rocky shore jutting out into the ocean.

Some of the boats were loaded already, skippers paddling them out a little with expertise so that empty boats could be set into the water, more people filling them up.

Around them, the air was sad, but there were also laughs and smiles, villagers who were staying wishing those leaving well and vice versa. No one was crying - at least not yet anyway - but people were hugging, shaking hands, a village built from the scraps of the Old World parting for their futures happily, kindly.

"There you are!" Will approached them from the side, his own bag slung on his shoulders. "Ready to go?"

No. In all honesty, Merlin wasn't ready to go. He wasn't ready to leave the safety of his Island and put all his faith in the Ocean and a boat. How far away was Camelot? Too far?

"Come on," Hunith said softly and Merlin saw his fears magnified in her eyes.

This was it. All his life Merlin had dreamt of bigger, dreamt of finding something amazing and life changing, and now that he had, he was scared. Justifiably so, but in all the stories he'd made up, all the adventures he'd had, fear had never been there.

Real life was different. In real life you could die, you could get hurt and... and you could be happy, safe.

Old Man Simmons stood by the makeshift dock, shaking hands with everyone who was making their way to sit down in the boats. For a moment, Merlin wondered why he was stood so straight, back ramrod and face stern, until he realised that Simmons, for all his preach of the New World and their salvation, wouldn't be coming with them.

"You're staying," he said as he reached Simmons, hand clasped between two wrinkled ones. Hunith was already on the boat, settling their place and turning to neighbours, sharing nervous smiles.

"I am," Simmons said with a dip of his head. "Your world doesn't need people like me, even if I made the trip."

There wasn't a hint of regret in his tone and Merlin knew why. The seas were too harsh for anyone, let alone an old man. He would just waste resources that would be better spent on the younger villagers, the people who would grow in a place like Camelot.

"I'll gladly die with this land under me, even if we're covered in water." Simmons offered a gruff smile before he leant towards Merlin, lips close enough to his ear that only Merlin would hear the words.

"You have all the qualities a leader needs by his side. You're not blinded by greed, but you overlook the larger picture. Your father was similar, but your talent stretches far beyond that." Simmons' eyes were watery as he pulled back ever so slightly, resting a gnarled hand on Merlin's shoulder. "If I had to place my trust in anyone, you'd be the one I'd have chosen to save us."

Merlin didn't know Simmons well. They weren't friends or even very good acquaintances. Merlin had never asked after Simmons and Simmons probably had never asked after him, but that was fine. They ran in different circles, despite being confined to the same patch of land.

What he said, though, struck Merlin deeply. Here was a man - a leader, despite how small his people - telling him he'd trust Merlin with their salvation. Not Will, not Hunith, not Matthew or anyone with something important to say, but Merlin.

"Thank you," he whispered in reply, squeezing the man's hand.

He didn't agree with everything Simmons had done (it was easy to feel the loneliness and pain of Mary Collins though Simmons' wrinkled skin), but the man had done what he'd thought best for his people. His words meant a lot, even though they were practically from a stranger's mouth.

The boat rocked as Merlin stepped into it, holding his arms out to balance himself, steadily moving to sit by Hunith. She smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and looking back to where Will was talking to Simmons.

"This is it," she said, turning her gaze out to the open ocean. "The start of our new lives."

So caught up in fearing they'd die before they got there, Merlin had forgotten to think of what they'd be going towards. They had their hope, but he'd never thought of what actually reaching Camelot would mean.

He smiled, glancing at Will as he shuffled on the boat, squeezing on the same row as Hunith and Merlin. More people settled on their boat too, until Simmons nodded and Matthew, their skipper, manoeuvred the boat along the shore, the waves sloshing against the side.

Some sea spray covered Merlin's shoes as the boat moved against the waves, but other than that there were no problems. Matthew steered the boat through the bigger waves expertly, keeping the boat in place while they waited for the remaining villagers, eyes fixed, like the rest of them, at the sad shape their Island made.

Then, without fuss or pomp, Matthew pushed away from the shores, curving through the waves on their little boat, joining the small fleet of people from Ealdor. Around him, the villagers were waving to those who had chosen to stay behind, cheers following them as they rode the waves. Merlin joined in, waving his arm back and forth to his home, his past and a world he'd never see again.

They sailed onwards, despite the light rain and the deep waves, slicing through the waters as if they were simply on a fishing trip. The other boats were still close, though they'd all drifted apart as the skippers navigated the waves, different styles, approaches and experiences. While Matthew was one of the few who cut through waves, younger skippers tended to try to steer away from the rougher waves, around them even though it may take longer.

For three days, the sailing was okay. There were times when they all gripped one another, but they made it through easily. The supplies that had been packed were rationed out sensibly and stored away, out of direct temptation.

Despite that though, the mood fell into irritation and tiredness. The children on board weren't happy, the adults around Merlin weren't happy. When the rain let up it was a welcome relief, until the sun glared down, hot and glinting off of the sea. They all smelt, were crusted with sea salt and constantly hungry and tired, after only three days.

Merlin didn't like to think about how many more they had to endure.

On the fourth day, everything changed.

It began with the darkening of the skies and Hunith pulling a blanket over them, shielding them from the main brunt of the rainfall. The waves around the boat became rougher, rocking the boat even as Matthew attempted to navigate. Merlin knew that this wasn't something that could be sailed through and gripped the wood underneath him, clinging to the seat.

The wind picked up, ripping their blankets down and carrying them away over the ocean. The boats they had set out were lost out in the storm, either too far away and lost or simply unable to be seen through the thick rain and the raging waves.

The storm didn't let up either and the wails of the villagers set in around Merlin, crowding around him as though he was the one who had caused this. It wasn't directed specifically at Merlin, but he felt it nonetheless, pushing him, whispering in his ear as the wind howled and pushed at them, trying to tear them apart.

Lightning flashed above them and mighty roars of thunder seemed to shake the very seas themselves, but Matthew stayed their course, muscles straining as he worked the boat, belting out orders for the men helping him.

Even a great skipper such as Matthew was no match for the second day of the storm. He was tired and all it took was his arm to slip once, muscles cramping, and the boat tilted slightly, front knocking against the very wave he'd been trying to steer out of, causing the boat to rock dangerously, throwing its passenger weight around.

Hunith's hand was slippery in Merlin's as the boat tilted, waves battering it as Matthew lost control, rain and sea spray covering them all. Screams filled the air, blocking out even the wind and the thunder.

They'd never make it. Everything Merlin had seen, the dragon and Mary pressing him to save them... all of it was lost as the boat rocked, waves throwing it around like a toy in a bath. Perhaps Spirits did exist and they'd finally caught some of the last Islanders, toying with them like rag dolls in a child's hand.

A giant wave rose up, dark and glittering with white horses. The world tilted, rolling over and over, Merlin unable to gather thoughts let alone his magic to right the world, and then suddenly Hunith's hand was slipping from his, Will was falling away from him and the people he knew, the Islanders he loved, were vanishing one by one.

The cold of the sea shocked Merlin as he hit the water, air rushing from his lungs, no matter how much Merlin knew he needed it. The waves raged above him, but he sunk downwards, eyes open despite the sting of salt.

He was alone. In the calm under the surface, in the darkness of the Ocean and the storm, Merlin was all alone, heading for the bottom of the sea. All of his dreams had told him about this moment - warning him? - and yet he'd believed in some vision, a holographic-dragon of all things.

Darkness began to crowd around Merlin, choking him and pushing him down. His body jerked, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen and he closed his eyes, head hitting the bottom of the sea, something that had never happened in his dreams because it had always signalled his death.

It had never been time before, but now, with light dancing before him in the sea, rippled by the waves, he'd sunk down as far as he could. There was nothing more, just the darkness, no family, no friends, so Merlin let go completely.

  
**.**   



	2. Chapter 2

** Part Two: The New World. **

**Wasteland**

**August 3500**

The first thing Merlin noticed when he woke was the pain all over his body. He ached everywhere, not a single cell in his body left untouched by the splitting pain. Moving was out of the question, even though water lapped around his hips, chilling his legs and sending shivers wracking through his body.

 

He opened an eye slowly, wincing as the movement caused more pain and left a graze down the side of his cheek. Merlin could see that he lay on a stony shore, grit and dirt surrounding him.

Wondering where he was, he couldn't remember any part of Ealdor being like this, Merlin eased his hands under his body, pushing up slowly. The movement hurt, but his thoughts were returning now and he knew he had to move, to get out of the water.

Still slightly dazed, Merlin looked around himself, half-pulled out of the water. Waves lazily ran over his calves, as if trying to soothe him. The shore he lay on jutted out from a mass of rocks and debris and stood alone, spiked out from the remainder of the Island. Had Ealdor suffered under the Ocean's hand again? If so... how did that explain the heap of scrap debris, full of rusted metals and rocks?

Merlin looked down at himself. He was soaked through and through, sea water drying thickly on his skin. His clothes were torn in areas, but how they had become torn still eluded him, hazed on the edge of his mind.

The suddenly, as the tide pulled back from his body, Merlin knew what had happened. He stood jerkily, head snapping to look around, desperate to see anything, anyone, something that might have survived with him.

Aside from old scraps of junk, the shoreline was empty. Merlin stumbled along for a few paces, desperate to find someone, but he fell down, hitting the ground hard with his knees, gravel digging into his skin.

How had he survived? He was sure he'd been drowning. They'd been flipped over in the storm and he'd been drowning, of course he had. He couldn't swim, so how had he ended up here?

Despair flooded through Merlin's body as he crumpled down, forehead hitting the ground as bile rose in his throat. Everything was gone. While it had always been a possibility they'd not all make it to the New World, Merlin had never, not even in his worst nightmares, thought that he'd be alone.

There were no signs of the wreckage though, so perhaps they were still out there, stranded somewhere else on this island. If Merlin had made it here in one piece then surely the others had as well. It couldn't have been too far from where their boat was wrecked and there had to be at least one person, somebody.

Grit entered his eye as he rubbed the backs of his hands against them, but Merlin ignored the pain, as with the rest of his body, in favour of trying to find someone.

As he stood shakily, every muscle screaming at him, Merlin looked around him. Though the large piles of scrapheap took up huge quantities of the shoreline, but beyond that... Merlin's breath caught in his throat.

Further away, a huge column rose from the ground, the grounding layer a line of tunnel-like structures, emerging from the tower like roots of a tree. The tower itself rose high into the clouds, thickening with every mile it stretched higher, the full effect of the structure lost in the mass of grey and rain surrounding it.

Shaking his head, Merlin stepped away from the water, unable to believe that he'd simply landed on the shores of one of the New Worlds. How had it been so easy? How had he simply drifted ashore?

The scrapheap served more of a purpose than piles of rubbish. As Merlin walked closer to them, slowly, even though he desperately wanted to run, he noticed they hid a thick fence, barbed wire reaching upwards, far higher than anyone could hope to climb.

It wasn't what Merlin had been expecting, but then again he hadn't thought he'd be washed up and alone. This had to be the back of the isle then, if there was such a fence, there perhaps to regulate the refugees or stop people wandering out too far.

He followed the fence, walking onwards even as rain picked up, wind hurling grit and water into his eyes. It felt hopeless, a desperate wish the only thing keeping him walking. There had to be someone, anyone, who had survived that storm, and Merlin was going to find them, even if he died trying.

Something dug into the side of Merlin’s leg and his fingers fumbled against sweat and sea-salt stiffened clothes. His hand then slid inside his pocket, digging down until he closed around the Obsidian, pulling it out and leaning against the fence.

Out of all the things to be saved with him, it had to be the Obsidian. A stone that had shown him a dead garden, a mythical beast and fed him lies of how he was to save them all.

The stone couldn’t be controlled, unlike Merlin had wanted to believe. Even if he did contain a great power, there was no way he’d been able to manipulate the stone and what he’d seen. It was the stone that had chosen what Merlin had seen and it was the stone that had caused this.

By all means, Merlin should throw it into the sea, let it float along until it found someone else. He should simply wrench his arm back, shuffle over to the coast and throw it as far as he can. It wouldn’t let him find his mother or Will and it certainly wouldn’t take him back to Ealdor and a time when he hadn’t made a terrible, horrific mistake.

He had just begun to move away from the fence, slowly, painfully, when a flash of movement caught Merlin’s eye. He turned sharply, clutching the stone tightly in his hand. Could it be used as a bargaining chip perhaps?

Taking a few more steps forward, Merlin kept his eyes focused on the point where he’d seen the movement. It had come from a small heap of junk, a few paces away from where he stood. The shadow that had moved had been darting towards the fence, to one of the main structural posts, a thick metal cylinder.

As he moved closer to where he had seen the movement, Merlin could hear the sound of someone (something?) shuffling through abandoned scrap. He tried not to think about how much the discarded metal here would have been valued on Ealdor, instead focusing all his thoughts on finding out what was out here with him.

“Hello?” Merlin called, hoping that whatever it was could understand him.

There was a flurry of movement behind the heap before a figure darted away, running for one of the fence cylinders. It looked as if it was a child, but that was a ridiculous thought, right? No parent in their right mind would allow their child to play out in a scrap heap alone and unsupervised. Unless, of course… but Merlin didn’t want to think about that possibility. These children could be orphans, but if Merlin had to face that hurdle and think about the fact that they had lost their parents, he’d need to think about Hunith and the fact that she most likely hadn’t survived the Ocean.

But maybe, maybe these children knew how to get to the main camp. And if they knew that, then Merlin was sure he’d find someone.

He inched closer, edging around the side of the pile until he saw the small cluster of children, rifling through a small pile of rubble. They were tittering to each other, just little sounds and hand gestures, but it appeared to be a language they all shared and understood.

As Merlin shifted closer, his boot scuffed a tin can, sending it rattling over. The children scattered at once, a few freezing in place as the others ran off for the safety of the cylinder. Of the three children who stayed, only one remained upright, the other two crouching low and tucked together.

“I’m Merlin,” Merlin said, pointing to himself. His voice was hoarse from lack of use and what he’d been through, but the children seemed to understand, the two scared ones perking up a little.

They grunted something, looking to the boy in the middle. He looked down at the other children, eyes wide, and they scuttled off, backing away from Merlin before they ran, bare feet slapping against stones and gravel.

“Is this Camelot?” It had to be Camelot. If there was a point to all of this, he had to have landed in Camelot at least. He had to see the dragon and get the dragon to save him, tell him where the others from Ealdor were.

The boy looked down to Merlin’s pocket and where he’d shoved the stone back before settling his blue eyes back onto Merlin’s.

“Can you even talk?” Merlin snapped, crouching down until he was level with the boy. He was tired, aching all over and had lost everything.

All he wanted was someone to show him that it hadn’t all been a loss, that he’d ended up by Camelot, a place where there was a dragon. Dragons were creatures of myth and magic, surely this one could make everything okay again? The dragon would be able to tell him where his family were. He’d be able to tell him that Hunith and Will and everyone else were stranded somewhere else. He’d be able to take him to them, because the only alternative was to give up and accept that they were gone.

The boy returned to digging through the pile of abandoned metal, ignoring Merlin. Merlin waited for a few moments before he sighed, turning his attention away from the child and looking around, hoping there was another one to help him instead.

“Trust me to pick the only kid that doesn’t want to talk,” Merlin muttered, still making no move away though. It didn’t matter if this child was deaf and dumb, it was better than being alone.

A low humming sound picked up and began to buzz louder. Merlin shot upwards, trying to see the source of the noise as it drew closer. The tip of a large boat could be seen between large piles of metal, cutting across the water with enviable ease, moving until it revealed a wide boat, black and white painted and unlike anything Merlin had ever seen. It looked motorised, a rare commodity for any appliance, let alone a boat.

There were printed letters on the side of the boat and it took all of Merlin’s concentration to pick them out. POLICE was emblazoned in dark letters, burning into Merlin’s eyes as hope grew, blossoming. The police hadn’t existed on Ealdor for centuries, but it didn’t mean that Merlin didn’t know who they were. If there was anyone that could help him, it would be the police.

Taking a step forward, Merlin jerked as something grabbed his trouser leg, tugging him back wildly. The boy had turned his full attention to Merlin now, shaking his head with wide eyes, hands clutching desperately to Merlin’s leg.

“No, they can help,” Merlin explained, reaching down to try and prise the small fingers away. The only thing it seemed to do, though, was cause the child to cling harder, hands trying to pull Merlin down.

“You need to let go!” Merlin tried to pull away, but his foot caught on a piece of junk and he tumbled over, catching his elbow on the floor. He hissed in pain and was about to stand back up when the boy held a finger to his own lips, nodding furiously towards the boat.

Cradling his elbow, Merlin narrowed his eyes, peering through the rain to where the police boat floated on the water. The engines had been flicked off and the hum the boat had brought had gone. A child was out on the gravel shores, curiously trying to pick their way around a pile of scrap, not having noticed the boat was there, or maybe not caring.

There was a flurry of activity on the boat and Merlin glanced to the boy still holding onto him in confusion. Surely the police were just going to help the child, take him back to his family?

There was a dreadful crack, ear-splitting almost, and Merlin ducked down instinctively. A few more sharp cracks sounded until they faded away, leaving the rain the only sound, muffling even the waves.

Risking a glance, Merlin saw the police boat turn away, the engines suddenly roaring once more. They hadn’t even stepped out from the boat and, as they pulled away, effortlessly sliding though the water, a tinge of fear crept into Merlin. It couldn’t be though, not when this was a place of refuge against the war nature had waged.

The boy didn’t relax his grip until the sounds of the boat had faded and it was only then that Merlin dared look over their heap to where the other child had been shifting through scrap. They were still there, slumped over on the ground, and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat.

Now he understood why the boy had stopped him running out there. He understood why the urchin children (there was no other name for them) had run when they’d seen him, why fear was so clear in their eyes. They were hunted by people who, once – maybe not anymore for Merlin knew nothing of this place – had taken oaths to protect the vulnerable.

Turning his head away from the body, Merlin sat on the ground, exhausted. So much had happened in such a short time that he wasn’t sure he could deal with it anymore. Should he just wade back out and let the sea take him again? It seemed as though it would be the more merciful option than trying to live, but what would the point be?

The dragon had wanted him in Camelot for a reason. It had told him to seek it out and there was no way that Merlin was just going to let it slip now. It meant, though, that he had to do something other than sit here.

“Camelot,” Merlin said firmly, gripping the boy by his shoulders so he faced him directly. “Is this Camelot?” he repeated, accentuating every single word he could.

The stare he got in reply was blank and the boy shrugged his shoulders free, picking himself up off of the floor and moving away towards the metal cylinders, stopping when he was a few steps away to look back at Merlin.

Looking over his shoulder, catching a sight of the sea, building itself up for a storm, and the sorry body left out in the rain, Merlin knew he had nothing to lose. This child most likely knew how to navigate the island and he had nothing to lose, but so much to gain.

As they walked along the fence-line, Merlin tried not to think too much about anything. He focused instead on placing one foot in front of the other and staying upright, ignoring the swell of emotions that caught at the back of his throat (where was Hunith, Will, what was he doing, why had he done it, the questions were endless) and ignoring the jolting pain he felt.

They walked for what seemed like hours, the storm worsening and jagged lightning crossing the skies angrily. Merlin had never seen a storm like this in the open, without a pane of glass or storm shutters between him and the elements. He’d been caught out in storms before, but nothing of this scale, with roaring thunder and lightning ripping the skies apart.

Was this all the New World was? A harsher replica of the life he’d left behind? Merlin didn’t want to dwell on that too much.

The path they trekked had wound them around in a slight circle, encompassing the isle. Merlin’s earlier thought that this was the ‘back’ of the island looked to be true for, ahead and far away, a mass of writhing figures and colours rose up, stretching from the fence to the shore line (which pushed out further than it had on the side Merlin had been on) and as far back as the eye could see.

Noticing that Merlin had stopped, the urchin boy tugged at his hand, seemingly desperate to get Merlin to keep going. They had already travelled a long way; the base of the Tower was large and Merlin knew it wasn’t the only one. From this side of the island, it was easy to see the four other structural bases for the Sky City, five points that merged into one huge column, the thickest of the bases the central one.

If this was Camelot, did the Queen’s garden reside in the central base? That is, if the gardens weren’t just a projection conjured by the dragon and they really did exist.

Seeing all of this though just reinforced the enormity of the situation. How was Merlin supposed to get inside to find the dragon when it was clear so many more people were queued up at the gates?

But maybe he could find people he knew. Maybe everyone from Ealdor was there already, simply waiting for Merlin. It wasn’t such a far-fetched thought, especially as Merlin himself had escaped the wreckage the storm had brought on amazingly unscathed.

“Do you know anything about the Islands?” Merlin asked the boy, desperate to keep his thoughts from building up expectations.

With a group that large, Merlin had no idea if he’d even find Hunith or Will before they were allowed into the city and so he couldn’t build up too much hope. He had to consider that the dragon was his only option for finding them and if he was reunited in the mass outside then that was an unforeseen joy. That meant, though, that Merlin needed to keep his mind away from building up hopes and so he chose to talk to the boy. It didn’t matter that he’d never receive a reply; he just needed to talk to someone.

“There used to be trees and flowers of every colour, once,” Merlin began, a soft smile creeping onto his lips. “I’ve never seen them aside from old photos, but they looked beautiful.”

The boy didn’t even turn back, but that didn’t bother Merlin.

“Animals too, most of them died out. We had birds and things and livestock, but you hear stories about massive animals that lived under sun-scorched plains and… well I can’t imagine it.” He craned his head up to look at the structure towering above them. “I wonder if they saved any of the animals,” he said quietly, remembering pictures of savannah life he’d seen in books.

That was all that was left of the world now. Books and photographs, and even then they were scarce. Did Camelot have archives of the world it towered above? Did they teach their children the reason they’d had to leave, from pollution and the great ice caps melting and the Great Disaster that had followed it all?

“The Great Disaster,” Merlin said, scuffing the toe of his shoes on the ground. There were hundreds of little rocks around, sharp edged and broken up by gravel. It wasn’t a place you’d want to fall, that was for sure, and Merlin gave his all to pick his feet up a little.

“No one remembers what the disaster was,” he continued and the boy looked at him for a moment, picking his own way across the land. They had come to an area that was sheltered from the rain, passing under the metal structure of the tower though they could both see the storm raging around them.

“I’ve seen old news clippings though, talking about what was going on. Resources had been drained, they said, the world was destroying itself and the Flood, when it started, was hailed by thousands to be a miracle purge sent by a God.” Merlin couldn’t help the bitterness from his voice.

His hands had shaken as he’d read that article, a column of words on yellowed newspaper, almost crumbling to the touch. People had said it was their God’s way of purging them or punishing them for their sins. To start the world afresh, they’d rejoiced, to wash away the evils of the earth and begin again.

Except no one began again. The Floods hadn’t stopped and the tides had simply risen. The Great Disaster – whatever it was – had been the straw to break the camel’s back and pushed the Floods past all intervention they’d put up. It had been this surge of the Flood that had broken Ealdor away from the remainder of its country and that had flooded almost the entire world in a few hours.

Merlin had grown up with these stories whispered around him, hidden until he was old enough to ‘understand’. It felt strange telling someone who most likely didn’t have a faintest idea of how their past had shaped their lives now, someone who probably didn’t care.

It was as though he had a huge legacy resting on his shoulders, one of the last Islanders and one of the very few to have made it to the New World. It didn’t matter though; who was there to care? The kid leading him didn’t care, probably didn’t even understand anything he’d said, and there looked as if there were a lot of people outside the gates and none of them would care, too wrapped up in their own stories and lives.

Why should anyone care about Merlin Emrys of Ealdor?

Except a dragon had. The Obsidian stone had thrown him into Camelot and he’d been face-to-face with a creature that had said he was meant for something, brought his dormant magic out and showed him it was there for a reason…

Merlin had been so ready to believe the dragon he’d hardly thought of the consequences. He was separated (that’s all because they couldn’t have died) from his family, alone for the first time in his life. He closed his eyes, standing still for a moment before the child returned to his side, tugging at his clothes.

“We were one of the last Islands left,” Merlin said, smiling grimly down at the boy. He’d started a story and he might as well finish it. For his part, the boy nodded, most likely enjoying the company more than anything.

“I was part of the reason so many people decided to leave. If I hadn’t said anything about Camelot or what I’d seen then my mum…” Merlin broke off, blinking back tears. He suddenly didn’t want to talk much, just wanted instead to focus his attention on where they were going.

The boy didn’t seem to mind, leading Merlin onwards. The journey was long, despite being able to see the camp, and it was at least an hour before he could pick out better details.

It was, simply put, a mass of bodies and scavenged homes. There was nothing glorious or beautiful about it. Amongst a wreck of discarded boats and other waste, people mingled, clumped in groups with the area around each personalised somehow, some with cloths draping their small patch and others with stacks of wood or other materials that had no real use. They were homey touches, trinkets from their past lives, but they also meant much more for Merlin.

If these people had built these little segments, camps, then how long had they been there? How long were they planning to stay there?

The urchin boy stopped when the camp was in clear sight and Merlin could just pick out individual faces. Already he’d started looking for familiar ones, but was drawn away by the boy.

“You can stay with me,” Merlin offered, though part of him knew the boy wouldn’t. He would have been glad of the company, but Merlin wasn’t about to force anyone else to do something they didn’t want to.

Still, he held onto a shred of hope that the boy would tag along with him and, for a brief moment, Merlin thought that he would. His hopes were dashed a moment later though, for the boy took off running to the fence, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder to look back at Merlin. But who could blame the kid? Merlin had just foisted himself on him, tagged along when he was almost certainly not wanted.

Urchin children aside, Merlin had a mission now. He needed to get inside the tower somehow and make his way to the dragon, though how he would find the exact location was a plan that would have to be thought up later. Baby steps, that was all Merlin had to take, little steps at a time.

The first thing Merlin noticed about the camp as he drew closer was the stench. Human waste and the scent of decay wafted from the area, despite there still being a large distance between him and the camp and the amount of rain falling. While it wasn’t the heaviest rainfall, it was substantial enough to soak Merlin through and wash the camp out. He didn’t want to think of how much waste there might be around if he could smell if so clearly already.

As he walked on, Merlin noticed that part of the camp was moving, swaying in time with the sea. The reason behind this wasn’t quite clear until he was much closer, a few hundred paces (at most) from entering the camp.

Half (perhaps more) of the area was built on the water. Boats were fixed together and moored to the ground, people slumped over sleeping in them of huddled together in the very ships that had brought them here. Wooden platforms stretched across some boats creating walkways, though the inhabitants of these boats looked even more sour-faced than the rest and Merlin noticed one cloaked woman smack out at someone walking across her boat with the back of her hand.

Even in the little section Merlin could see, there were so many people, all of them crushed tightly together, clinging to the possessions they had left. They looked world-weary, not just tired, but truly sick of living.

Was this the glory of the New World? Where were the wide gates to welcome them all, the people of the skies offering their hand to help them? Did they even know so many people were camped out on their doorstep?

“Oi!” A voice shouted as Merlin hovered on the edge of the camp. “Clear off and get your own space!”

The voice belonged to a woman, grimy with weeks of sea-grime and refugee living. This wasn’t the world he’d dreamt of and it certainly wasn’t the world he’d thought he’d be coming to when he’d left Ealdor.

“Sorry, I-“ Merlin began, but the woman cut him off quickly.

“Go on, get!” she lunged towards him, rocking the boat she was on and drawing alarmed calls from the other occupants. They all turned on Merlin then as well, waving him away and shaking their heads.

It took Merlin a while before he found a boat willing to let him cross over and even more time for him to find a scrap of land to set his feet on. And even then there was nothing but squabbling around him, pushing at him and testing his boundaries.

Merlin was quickly learning that to survive in this New World, he had to be prepared to stand up against others, people who might have suffered greater than him. He couldn’t stop to think about the group of young children huddled against older children, he couldn’t pause to offer a hand to the man trying to build his own little home on a patch no bigger than their shoulders.

He spent three days picking his way through the refugee camp, scrounging scraps of food from do-gooders, sympathetics who ushered him over. He’d already lost a lot of weight and the fact that he hadn’t quite been covered in as much dirt as the remainder of the camp made him look pastier, sicker.

On the third day, Merlin had stumbled through the heart of the camp and onto the outskirts. It was here that he newer refugees came to, hustling against each other for the best space to integrate, pushing and testing the waters around them. Their boats were latched together tightly, too green and scared to even think of leaving the people they knew.

As Merlin walked over, they looked up in hope, as if Merlin was some great Sky-dweller who would choose for them to pass into their haven first. Then as they realised he was just another one of them, squandering in their space, hope turned to distrust and they drew away, turning their backs.

That was fine though. Merlin wasn’t here to make friends with them. He was here looking for people he knew, for friends and family. There was a chance he could find them before he had no other option but to find the dragon, but it was a slim and pitiful one. It would be better just to hope and find them after, fall back on that plan rather than waste valuable time seeking them out when there was nothing he could do right now.

“Excuse me,” Merlin began, again and again, repeating the same words tiredly. He usually only got those two words out before he was waved off, sent packing with usually only dirty looks, but a few people had handed him morsels of food, blessing him with old prayers and well-wishes.

Even in a place full of such despair and grief, there was still a sense of community and family. Strangers passed on good luck, praying to their gods on a boy they knew nothing about. It wasn’t hard to smile when he passed those people and Merlin bowed his head in return, hand slipping over the Obsidian in his pocket, wishing he had something to give back.

It took almost two more days of constant walking before Merlin reached the central part of the camp. He’d hoped… well, he wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for aside from a familiar face, but he still hadn’t found it. He’d found the boarder of the water now and had one foot on land (it was strange to not feel the sway of the sea after so long walking on the water), the other left on a boat.

“Get a move on then, boy,” someone hissed, trying to shoo Merlin away while another- younger – voice protested.

“No! You can’t go!” The scrubby face of a child looked up, hair matted and eyes wide. She wasn’t an orphan, but Merlin had learnt her father had left a week or so ago to try and find food while her mother looked after her, lost in grief after losing her son.

Like so many of these pitiful people.

Merlin knew the only reason the girl didn’t want him to leave was because he had given her a morsel of food. Just a scrap of bread, but her mother had thanked him graciously, given him a cloak in return before withdrawing into their little world again.

About to explain why he had to go, Merlin frowned as a low humming sounded over the camp and, as if a shock had been passed through the camp, a flurry of activity shot up.

Small police boats were manoeuvring where they could through the water-logged part of the camp, pushing small boats out of the way if they had to. A few of the officers on board climbed down onto the boat walk-ways, looking around for something.

A hand rose in the air and one of the officers, clad head to toe in black, helmet covering any noticeable features, grabbed a young boy on the boat, marching him towards the waiting Police boats. The people he had left behind moved together, clutching at each other and the wails of a mother torn from her child filled the air.

Whispers ran wild around Merlin as people realised they were ‘picking’ and families reacted in two different ways.

“Take him! Take my son!” a man called out, standing up in his boat and pushing his child forwards. The police stepped up to the boat, placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and pushed him back down, ignoring the child completely.

The other reaction was to squirrel the young away, hide them from whatever was going on. Merlin watched, perplexed, at the reactions, the police ignoring all of them and taking the children they wanted, as if they had some agenda.

“What’s going on?” he asked a nearby refugee, refusing to take his eyes away from the scene.

“They’ve come for the Pickings. Take the children they want into the Sky City, for a better future, or so the rumour says.” Merlin saw three more children selected and frog-marched to the boats, loaded up easily. “Some people believe it, others don’t. Some hope for a better life for their kids, others just want to stay together.”

The Pickings lasted for another few minutes before the roar of boats sounded again and the police negotiated the waters, manoeuvring backwards until they were out on the open sea. The small fleet moved as one, until Merlin couldn’t see them anymore over the mass of people between him and the sea, the holes in the network made by the police boats filling again.

“Where do they take them?” Merlin asked, wondering whether they were taken over to the central tower or if there was a way to get to Camelot from this tower.

“To the Western gate. From then on, no one knows,” was the reply before Merlin was shunted again, the camp simmering down again.

Merlin had a goal now. He had to make it to the gate if he wanted to get into Camelot, which meant he had to push on through the camp until he found the gate. And when he found the gate, he’d be one step closer to finding his dragon.

Did he fit the criteria laid down for entering the city? The police had been quite specific about what they’d selected, taking only hardy looking children, avoiding the ill and the frail. Had they chosen these children simply because they were the most likely to survive or for another reason? Not that it really mattered, it wasn’t as if Merlin could change himself at all to fit what the police wanted.

Merlin passed under the tower structure, the rain that had been pouring dimming down until it was dry. The people in this part of the camp were more settled than those out in the full elements, but Merlin was met with more hostility and unable to beg for scraps of food.

For hours, all Merlin could allow himself to think about was placing one foot in front of the other, making his way through the camp. He was hungry, but not starving, so he could continue on, ignoring the churning in his belly, the saliva that filled his mouth whenever his eyes caught site of someone eating.

He was tired, wet and hungry. All he had were his familiar clothes, too ruined now to say that he could keep them once he found something new to wear, and his cloak, made of thin and dirtied material. He couldn’t say what colour it had once been, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care. There was an ache in his chest he couldn’t shake either and it beat in time with his heart, reminding him of all he’d lost, all he’d thrown away on a stone.

And, of course, he still had the Obsidian. For a while Merlin had considered trading it with someone for something, anything, and the thought hadn’t been fully shaken. Realistically though, Merlin knew he needed the stone, needed to save it for when he entered Camelot. The Obsidians held importance in Camelot, or at least they used to. It would get Merlin noticed if he used it at the right moment and could probably fetch him a good price.

He reached the westernmost point of the camp a few days later, after squabbling for scraps of food and, after much mental debate, sacrificing his shoes. They’d fetched a good price, a week of supplies if Merlin stretched himself, and the pain of stumbling through the camp was worth it when he could take an edge off of the clawing hunger.

It was no different to the rest of the camp. Merlin stood on the edge, surrounded by people from so many places with the sea on his left, fence to his right and his bare feet hovering over the edge of a thin boat, toes just brushing the large channel of sea water that ran from the ocean up through the gate and, presumably, to the Tower. The gate that had been mentioned was a small thing, just large enough to accommodate one of the police boats at a time, a little wider than the columns that ran around the fence.

People milled around, even up to the gate. No one stood directly in the channel, but Merlin could tell some were judging it, trying to catch the attention of anyone who might be watching from within.

It was then that Merlin’s eyes caught movement from the other side of the channel, to where a group of children were playing up near the fence. It didn’t take a genius to work out that they didn’t belong to the camp and were, instead, the urchin children, taking turns to push each other up near the gate.

A shattering noise erupted as the urchins got too close, sending them scattering as someone fired their gun, the bullets hitting the water in a means just to scare them away. Even so, it was clear that anyone who wasn’t welcome would be sent away in fear or simply dealt with using a bullet to the back of their head and their body dumped into the water.

The boat he was on rocked as it was buffered by the wind. The ocean had been churning violently lately, driven by the rain and the wind, and now the effect was turning to the shore. People began hunkering down, holding onto each other, muttering about staying together against the storms.

About to turn away and give in, Merlin felt a jolt in his chest. It was almost as if a memory had returned full force, but stronger, the thrill wracking through his entire body. Every nerve tingled as if telling him to push on, the first sign of his magic since leaving Ealdor.

Merlin swayed on his feet, the boat surging up as a wave passed through the water-borne part of the camp, several cries of alarm ringing out. The tingle of magic continued through Merlin, as if trying to force its way out, and Merlin doubled over, gritting his jaw at the uncomfortable feeling.

The boat rocked again and Merlin saw it happen as if in slow motion. His foot lost its hold on the boat and he fell forwards, arms stretching out as he plunged into the water.

It was freezing and dirty. Water rushed to fill Merlin’s ears and mouth as he gasped for air, having lost whatever breath he’d had when the cold water had hit him. The cloak wrapped around his body instantly, comforting almost as the ends floated towards the surface, the only thing Merlin could make out from the murky world around him.

His magic tingled again, jerking through Merlin’s body, before something grabbed at the back of his neck. It hurt, jarring against his magic and his numb limbs, but something kept hauling him up, pulling him firmly.

Spluttering, Merlin lay limp as he was dragged through the water, blinking through sea salt and the scum that had lay on top of the water as urchin children surrounded him. Their hands petted down his cloak, little fingers running over his body as they searched for something, a small cry of triumph sounding when they found the pouch of food Merlin had tied around his waist.

Though the food was sodden through, the urchins were happy to take it away, nodding at each other and grunting. They squabbled like animals, fighting each other for the scraps, and Merlin watched them while his heart slowed down, eyes darting over to the other side of the channel, back to the refugee camp. No one was looking in his direction, no one had been prepared to leap down to save him, but these urchins had.

His magic still tingled, but it was subdued now, as if it was content that Merlin was here. Even so, what was he to do now? He still had the same problem crossing the fence line and now he was stuck on the wrong side of the camp.

It was then he noticed the boy beside him, plucking at threads on Merlin’s cloak. He looked a little dirtier, hair scruffed up in a ridiculous manner, but he was still the same child that had led Merlin to the camp in the first place.

“How did you get here?” Merlin asked quickly, eyes raking around the area, determined to find where the child could have come from. He hadn’t been through the camp, not when he’d refused to set foot there before, and there hadn’t been enough time for him to go around the other way on the island.

The boy looked up, eyes wide and unafraid. He stood and took the end of Merlin’s cloak with him, tugging as he walked. It left Merlin with little choice but to follow, damp and barefooted over the stony ground of the island.

“Where are we going?” he asked, even though he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer. The boy simply kept walking, dragging Merlin away from people he could have talked to, could have forged a new life with.

But would it have been a life? No. Would he have been happy? Never. He had to find a dragon and maybe, just maybe, this child could help.

And he did, leading Merlin along the island until they came to one of the columns in the fence. It was slightly rusted, but no less intimidating. Merlin wondered if any of the police were behind it, but the children were calm, gathered at the base and clumped together in small groups.

As they approached the column, Merlin noticed that part of the base was missing. It led directly to the other side of the fence, guarded by the urchins and clearly a treasured part of their lives. So this was how they got around the island and why the children back when Merlin had woken up had run to the columns. They could be opened, the perfect way to get around in secrecy.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered, jaw practically hanging open as a few children slipped out of the column. He was by the fence now, awestruck at how easy it was to get through when there were so many people just crowded by the gates, hoping that they could strike lucky.

He didn’t doubt, though, that these secret entrances were guarded to the death by the urchins. Whatever Merlin had done to be placed in the good books with the boy attached to his cloak, he was glad for it.

More and more of the urchin children clumped together, huddling together and turning towards the entrance in the column. The boy with Merlin ignored the wild grunts and hisses that escaped the other children as they walked forwards, pushing past the crowds until they stood near the front. It was only then that the boy sat down, pulling harshly at Merlin’s cloak until he too took a seat.

Nothing happened. They sat there for a few minutes, the children silenced completely. For a moment, Merlin wondered whether they had chosen to sacrifice him in a barbaric ritual or something, until he heard a rare whistle.

Immediately the urchins around him sat up a little, straightening with smiles plastered on their dirty faces. Merlin perked up too, wondering who was about to come from the other side of the fence, waiting nervously.

“How many do we have today?” a warm voice called from inside of the column, just before an old man emerged, carrying a large satchel and accompanied by a younger woman.

Instantly, the children began to chatter to themselves, not-quite-sounds spilling from their mouths as they shifted in excitement. Despite their appearances, it seemed that some people did care for them, or at least the basic necessities judging from the way the woman set down her own satchel.

A few of the urchins moved to the front, shuffling excitedly as the old man took out another bag from the satchel, a smaller one full of what looked to be bandages and water.

Without any hesitation, the old man began washing small wounds and scrapes the urchins had, patching them up the best he could, considering they were wild children. His companion stopped digging through her bag and instead began handing out small parcels to the children, ruffling their hair occasionally.

Merlin’s urchin clambered to his feet, nodded at Merlin, leading them towards the newcomers. The little parcels looked to be morsels of food, not too lavish, but enough that the children wouldn’t starve.

Did they come from the city above? Merlin knew that the refugee camp received some supplies, but they were hardly ever shared fairly and never given to everyone. If these people came from Camelot, they were fairer than anyone who had ever given out rations to the camp.

The woman’s smile faded abruptly as she saw Merlin and her eyes widened, hand flying to her chest. A few of the urchins moved forward to tug on the long skirts she wore, gesturing to the satchel at her feet, but she shook her head mutely, turning towards the old man and reaching for him with her other hand.

“What is it my dear?” the man said, not turning his attention from the young boy he was currently cleaning up. When all he received was another scrambled clutch at his arm, the man looked up, eyebrows rising as he laid eyes on Merlin.

The man was about to speak when the little urchin by his side moved forwards, jutting his chin and puffing out his chest. The woman moved back a little, returning to her satchel to continue handing out food, but the man stopped his work, looking Merlin up and down.

“You can’t be one of the wild children,” he commented, frowning a little. “I’ve never seen you before and I think we would have noticed you. They keep their elders in command the children do,” the man added, almost to himself, as if he was used to speaking his thoughts rather than keeping them in his head.

“Though I fear you have no idea what I’m saying, but you are a fascinating creature.” The man moved his head slightly from side to side, as if it would help him to evaluate exactly who Merlin was.

“I’m not a creature,” Merlin replied instead, drawing a look of shock from the man. He looked back at the woman who had stopped again, her eyes fearful.

“You can talk?” the man asked and Merlin nodded, frowning.

“The urchins helped me out of the water when I fell into the channel… by the gate?” He hoped they knew what he was referring to and, by the shake of his head, Merlin guessed the man did.

“That horrible thing,” he muttered, glancing to the woman. “You came from the refugee camp then?” At Merlin’s nod, he continued, giving a brief smile to the boy in front of Merlin. “How long have you been there?”

The questions were justified and perhaps in his old life Merlin might have been annoyed for the intrusion, but he was now simply happy that he had someone to talk to who was interested in him and not just being polite for possible food. The camp was harsh and lonely and Merlin hadn’t realised how much he’d missed talking until now.

“A week. Maybe more. I’m not quite sure,” he admitted, seeing only kindness and curiosity in the old man’s eyes.

While their ages couldn’t have been too far apart, this man reminded Merlin nothing of Old Man Simmons. While Simmons had a cold look in his eyes, this man was sincere, kind and curious. Merlin willed the thoughts away, knowing that he couldn’t dwell on the past now that he was here. He had to think forward and that meant blocking the people from Ealdor, at least for a short while.

“A week?” The man’s eyebrows shot up again. “We didn’t get any reports of more people coming… are you sure?”

Somehow he managed to make Merlin feel like a child with a single look. Merlin shuffled uncomfortably where he stood, resting a hand on the urchin’s shoulder.

“I came from Ealdor, an Island. The last Island probably,” Merlin said in afterthought, looking at the man, hoping that he knew something.

“We thought the Islands had been flooded years back,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “But it’s a blessing that you’re here now, you couldn’t have had an easy journey.”

Merlin acknowledged the man with a nod, bowing his head slightly. The woman moved over to the urchin accompanying Merlin and gave him one of the food packages, ruffling his hair and giving him a heart-warming smile.

“Oh!” the old man suddenly said. “I haven’t introduced us yet, have I?” He smiled at the woman, drawing her forwards by taking her hand. “This is Eigyr and I’m Gaius. We’re part of the Druids who live in the drowned world through the fence.”

Merlin took the hand Gaius offered to him, shaking it gently. He didn’t know what the druids were, or what the drowned world was, but he’d found people now he could actually talk to, people who looked as if they could sustain themselves well, considering they were handing out food to the urchin children.

“I’m Merlin, from Ealdor as I said before.” He smiled at Gaius before turning to Eigyr, offering his hand awkwardly. She didn’t take it, instead taking a minute step back, eyes darting over to Gaius.

Despite her obvious fear of him, there was something familiar about Eigyr, as if he had met her before. It was a ridiculous thought of course, for how could he have met her? Merlin had never left Ealdor and she had clearly never left the New World.

“Are you alone?” Gaius asked, turning away from Merlin as he inspected a child with a cut on his forehead.

“I am now,” Merlin answered, dragging his eyes away from Eigyr to watch Gaius tend to the remaining children. The crowd had thinned out now, some darting into the fence and the world beyond while others were walking back out across the wasteland here, chasing each other or crouching down to eat the food they’d been given.

“Now?” Gaius asked absently, nodding to the last child waiting and frowning at the wound on his stomach as the boy lifted up his clothing, little more than scraps of cloth and dirtied material.

“There was a storm,” Merlin began, looking away. “I don’t know what happened, but we couldn’t have been too far from the shore as I washed up perfectly fine.”

Finished looking at the urchin’s stomach, and after dabbing at it with a cloth that he’d put a potion or something on, Gaius looked up at Merlin with a frown.

“You washed up? Just like that?” His eyebrows were raised and Merlin felt suddenly nervous.

“Yes, on the other side of the island. The boy who brought me here was over there too when the…” Merlin broke off. He had no idea how things in this land worked or who the druids were in connection to the police, but what did he have to lose? “The police opened fire on some other children.”

Gaius nodded solemnly, but it was Eigyr who reacted more openly, her breath hitching and a hand reaching for Gaius’ shoulder, clutching at the fabric of his clothing. Gaius looked away from Merlin then, turning his back and speaking in a hushed whisper to the frail woman behind him.

Even though he hadn’t been there for that long, Merlin could see that she didn’t fully belong. Gaius held the same air, but his was diminished, something Merlin didn’t take full note of. But Eigyr, she was something else.

When she wasn’t slumped slightly, she held herself daintily, back straight and elegant, her eyes fixed on a point far away. He could see the beauty on her face, hidden behind mud and strands of dirty hair that looked as if it could have been blonde once. She hadn’t spoken once and Merlin wondered whether that was through choice or if she couldn’t.

Like Merlin, she clearly didn’t belong in the New World’s slums. While he belonged back on his Island, he had no idea where she could have come from, someone with all the regal bearing of a queen and yet to have chosen to stick to the slums?

That didn’t count the familiarity he felt either. Merlin felt as if he knew Eigyr, that there was some sort of connection between them, staring at him, right there and yet he was too blind to see it.

“Yes,” Gaius said darkly, passing the child he had been seeing to a bundle off food and then beginning to wrap his bandages and potions back up. “It’s their form of pest control, when they’re not taking their share in the Pickings.”

Gaius held out a food bundle to Merlin’s urchin, tilting his head down a little to regard the boy with a stern look. “Now, Mordred, are you going to join us or are you still upset about what happened last week?”

The boy took the food, shaking his head, causing Gaius to sigh.

“Very well then, but Alvarr wanted to see you. He didn’t say what about, but perhaps you could pop round later hm?” Gaius finished packing the last of his materials and picked the bundle up, nodding to Eigyr. Mordred scampered off then, after a quick glance to Merlin, leaving him torn as to follow or stay.

The choice was taken out of his hands, though, when Gaius spoke up again.

“You’re welcome to follow Mordred as there’s no doubt he’ll come back to us eventually, but am I correct in thinking you’d prefer a roof over your head and some good food?” Eigyr had already wandered through the hole in the fence pillar and Gaius was half-turned towards it too.

Merlin hesitated for a moment, casting a glance to Mordred’s disappearing form and then back at the refugee camps. The druids seemed like they knew the layout of the New World well so perhaps one could be able to get him inside, and Merlin did need decent food and some rest. The refugee camp had nothing for him and a life with Mordred seemed bleaker by the second.

And Gaius could speak. Even though they hadn’t talked much, Merlin had missed talking, missed forming words and conversing, as stupid as that sounded. It wasn’t a hard choice, in the end, and Merlin followed Gaius and Eigyr through the rusted hole in the fence, taking care that he didn’t get wet as Gaius called out.

“There’s a reason it’s called the drowned world!” Gaius said, smiling over his shoulder. “You’ll get used to it eventually, hopping from bank to bank, but be prepared to get a bit wet.”

It was clear what Gaius was referring to as soon as Merlin stepped clear of the fence. While there were mounds of land, easy to jump from one to the other if you took care, the rest of the space between the fence boundary and the tower rising up above them and arching away was dominated by water.

Occasionally, ruins poked through the surface, like the church spire over to their left. The stone was crumbled, but the shape unmistakeable, ruins like those back on Ealdor, sending a jolt of pain through Merlin’s chest as he thought of his Island, his home.

Those thoughts were soon banished though as Merlin saw the slightly withered form ahead of him. It was a tree, something he’d only ever seen in story books, and while they were far greener and bushier in the pictures, this was still a real-life, living tree.

“It’s a tree,” Merlin said stupidly, causing both Gaius and Eigyr to turn around in amusement.

“The drowned world is fortunate enough to have its own sorts of plants. Some we get food from and others we can make our clothes from, though without the waste from the Sky City we’d never be able to sustain ourselves,” Gaius said simply, continuing to lead their path through the boggy land.

“Camelot gives you things?” Merlin asked, slipping slightly through a thick patch of mud. He looked up to see where Gaius was headed, trying not to stray too far from him, when he noticed Eigyr’s wide eyes staring at him. There was something in her look, but Merlin couldn’t place it and dismissed it.

“It depends on your definition of ‘give’ I suppose,” Gaius muttered. “But whatever they do not need, they’ll dump down in the wastes they rose from.”

He stopped suddenly, turning thoughtfully to look at Merlin, again. “Not many people call it Camelot anymore,” he said casually. “At least not since they shut their gates against the refugees, and that was around twenty years ago now.”

Merlin didn’t miss the look Gaius shot Eigyr, but he had no idea what it meant. There was something deeper here, but Merlin had his own problems to deal with.

“When you say ‘shut’ I suppose there aren’t any ways to get into Camelot then?” Desperately hoping for Gaius to shake his head, Merlin held his breath, sucking in his bottom lip as he waited for an answer.

“The only ones who get into Camelot are the police and the ones they take from the Pickings. Otherwise it’s an impenetrable fortress,” Gaius said matter-of-factly, taking a few careful steps forward and holding his hand out to help Eigyr across a small channel of water.

The water in here was, oddly enough, still. It wasn’t as though Merlin had never seen ponds or patches of still water, but it had never been this big, this encompassing. There weren’t any waves, blocked by the fence, and even though there was clearly a current in the water, it was smooth and unlike what Merlin was used to. These druids didn’t have to fear the water like everyone else down here, instead it seemed that they thrived off of it.

The druid camp was nested on the same side of the island as the refugee camp. The first thing Merlin noticed though, between the tower jutting upwards and the camp just coming into view, was another fence, this one controlled by loch gates and clearly manned. It was still a way off, easily a four hour or so walk, but the shapes of the police boats were clear, milling in the wide, obviously human-dug waterway that clearly led from the gate at the refugee camp.

“They come through with the Pickings,” Gaius said, having stopped to wait for Merlin to catch up. “Drive them through here and straight up to the gates, never to be seen again.”

The subject was brushed off, Gaius squaring his shoulders and gesturing for Merlin to follow Eigyr as she picked an obviously familiar route, drawing closer and closer to the campsite.

It was the kind of place Merlin had read about in books, with crooked tents and trees bent so that they provided the main source of shelter. They were protected from the wind thanks to the fences in the drowned lands, but the rain still fell from above and there was a hand-made tarpaulin tacked to some of the tent roofs where the trees couldn’t provide shelter, made from old plastics and shopping bags.

Merlin smiled slightly. It was surreal to see objects and materials he had only read about or seen pictures. While they were once commonplace objects, no one after the floods needed shopping bags, at least not plastic ones that could break easily. Most objects of the Old World were forgotten, lost in photographs and books only, only to be used in such strange ways in the last place you would even expect life.

There wasn’t anyone out in the open when Gaius and Eigyr stepped into the camp, but it didn’t seem to bother them. For a terrible moment, Merlin wondered if they were the only two left, until a tall man in a long robe stepped out, mud caked to the lower half of his clothing.

“Gaius,” he greeted warmly, clasping the old man’s arm before smiling to Eigyr and greeting her also. “I trust your visit to the wild children was well?”

Merlin watched as Gaius nodded, drawing the man aside a little.

“I fear they’ve increased patrols.” Gaius looked tired and he shifted the medical pack in his hands a little. “There’s less children and it fits with the increased boats moving out to take their Pickings.”

The tall man shook his head, a frown creasing his forehead, only to be replaced as he noticed Merlin.

“We thought you were bringing Mordred back?” he asked, looking sharply at Gaius.

“Mordred refused, as usual. He’ll come back in his own time, I’m sure. The argument they had was over something delicate and while I know he’s hardly safest out there, you’d have more luck trying to drain the ocean itself than drag him back unwilling.” Gaius gave a snort of laughter and the man he was talking to tilted his head, conceding to the point just made.

“True,” he said, deep voice dipping into amusement. “But that still doesn’t explain him.”

“Merlin Emrys,” Merlin said, mostly because he doubted Gaius remembered his name, but partly because he was sick of not saying anything. “From the Island of Ealdor.”

The reaction he got from that wasn’t what he’d expected. The three druids drew in sharp, identical breaths and both men’s eyes flickered over to Eigyr. She was even paler than she had been before, blue eyes wide and cheeks hollowed as he mouth was open in shock.

Not knowing why, after all he hadn’t said anything more than he had before to just Gaius and Eigyr, Merlin looked between them all at their reaction.

“What is it?” he asked, nervousness settling in.

No one spoke for a moment, the rustling of hidden people behind nearby tent walls the only sound aside from the slosh of the waters around them, and Merlin almost asked his question again when he received a surprising answer.

“Emrys?” was whispered, only just audible. Merlin turned, shocked, to look at Eigyr and nodded.

She spoke again. “Of the Ocean,” she said softly, eyes darting over to Gaius.

A memory spiked in Merlin’s brain, from weeks – months even – ago. The dragon had called him the same name, but what did it mean?

“I’ve heard those words before,” he said hurriedly, trying to catch the gaze of any of the druids, but they were masters of avoiding him. Maybe they knew the dragon, maybe the dragon was free to roam where it pleased and maybe, oh just maybe, they could show him to the dragon.

And through that, solve Merlin’s problems and get his life back.

“And you’ll no doubt hear them again,” the unnamed man said with a furrowed brow, inspecting Merlin as though he was some great curiosity that had been gifted to them from their gods. “But that will have to wait.” He clapped his hands, sending a weighted look to Gaius and Eigyr. “No doubt you’re hungry and you’d want to clean up properly and change clothes.”

His tone indicated no room for argument, so Merlin obeyed, his need for food overwhelming his curiosity. Plus, it was as the man had said; he wasn’t denying the information outright, stating they’d talk later when Merlin could be more focused.

It didn’t take long for the man – Aglain he introduced himself a few moments later – to hand Merlin’s responsibility to Gaius and leave. The elderly man nodded, speaking in a low tone to Eigyr before she walked off, leaving just the two of them behind.

“Right then,” Gaius muttered. “Until we have a proper use for you, I’ll have you as an apprentice or helper, or whatever you want to be called.” He offered Merlin a genuine smile before picking through the tents, swaths of colour bright in the gloom and so different to the refugee camp, though they were, in essence, identical.

While the camp outside had been smelly, full of noise and desperation, the druid camp was calm, almost peaceful. Occasionally people peered out of their tents to smile at Gaius and eye Merlin curiously, but for the most part, they were left alone. The almost-solitude was welcoming after so many days crushed with so many strangers.

“There’s a small tent on the back of mine. I usually use it to store big supplies if they ever wash up, or house the particularly grievously injured… but it’ll do well for you.” Gaius bustles under a sheet of strange fabric, clearly hand woven and yet dyed as though it belonged to the Old World.

“How..?” Merlin begun, but stopped as he saw the glint in Gaius’ eye and the slight curve on his lips.

“You might not believe me, but there are some amongst the druids who are gifted. They use these talents to ensure our survival and that includes providing food and materials so we can live.” Merlin’s breath hitched as he realised what Gaius was talking about, that while he also had a gift, he wasn’t alone.

“Of course it’s very little magic can provide. The power of the Old Religion was buried long ago, centuries before the Floods even, but we do what little we can to survive,” Gaius finished, placing his medical kit down onto a table he had in the tent, shuffling through it and putting the assorted equipment away.

When he’d finished, picking through the organised chaos that Gaius called his home, the man clasped Merlin’s shoulder, leading him over to a large basin, a yellow-stained bath.

“Here’s the bath,” Gaius said simply, as though Merlin was raised like the wild children and bathed in the dirty sea rather than in civilisation. “And if you’d give me a moment, I’ll have it filled for you.”

Merlin was about to ask how when he realised that the people with ‘talents’, as Gaius had said, included the man himself.

In amazement, Merlin watched as Gaius muttered some words and the bath filled with water. The words were familiar, soothing, and they settled under Merlin’s skin, warm and comforting. Steam rose off of the murky water until Gaius drew in a deep breath, his body shuddering and he lay a hand on Merlin’s arm to steady himself.

“Sorry,” he began apologising, before his eyes widened and he looked down to where they were touching.

Merlin already knew why Gaius was looking at him in such a manner. He could feel his magic, clearer than he ever had before, and it was flowing. It poured into Gaius, strengthening the man where he had become weaker through drawing the bath.

“Merlin?” he muttered, voice pitched higher and incredulous. “You’re a sorcerer?”

Automatically, Merlin shook his head. “No, I mean… you can obviously feel it, but I’ve never been able to control it. Sometimes my magic was there, but mostly it wasn’t.” It was a relief to finally be able to tell someone about his gifts and while Hunith had listened intently, she’d already known and had hidden it from Merlin.

“My mother said I could move things before I could walk, but I can’t anymore. I didn’t even know I had magic until I found the stone-“

Gaius suddenly span Merlin around, gripping both of his shoulders and peering into his eyes as if he was trying to see through Merlin’s very soul.

“What stone boy?” he asked sharply and Merlin’s hands scrambled at his thigh, digging down into his pocket to remove the stone.

It looked smaller than before, fitted to Merlin’s palm and dark, pulling Merlin’s magic to itself. Gaius clutched Merlin’s hand underneath, staring at the stone in shock.

“Where did you…” Gaius trailed off, looking at Merlin with something akin to horror in his eyes.

“It washed up on the shore,” Merlin replied quickly, unsure what Gaius was thinking. He knew it wasn’t too late for the druids to turn him away and retract their hospitality and, for a strange reason, he wanted Gaius to like him.

Who else was there? His family and friends were gone and Mordred clearly only looked out for himself. The druids were his only chance now and Merlin resolved that he couldn’t waste this chance.

“What do you mean? Ealdor has to be miles away, how could it have just washed up on the shore?” Merlin shook his head, searching Gaius’ eyes.

“What do you want me to say? I’ve told you the truth,” he barrelled on, desperately. “It washed up on the shore and I took it home. I didn’t know it was magical until later.”

Gaius looked at him considering something yet entirely silent. Merlin found himself holding his breath under the weight of Gaius’ look, until the man drew himself up, nodding to the bath.

“I think we need to discuss some things together before we join the others. Bathe,” he ordered and Merlin couldn’t find any part of him that wanted to argue with that idea. “And I will fetch you some clean clothes.”

After Gaius had left the tent, Merlin moved to the edge of the bathtub, dipping a hand into the water. While it wasn’t the cleanest, Merlin had never bathed in anything completely clear and the heat of the water was enough to discard any thoughts he may have had before all of this. At this moment in time, Merlin would have been happy to bathe in used bathwater if it had meant he’d be fresher and warm.

Placing the stone on a nearby table, Merlin grimaced as he removed his clothes. They were crusted and made strange noises as he tried to pull the fabric away from his body. He was caked in dirt and just removing the clothes was a relief, one that was soon overwhelmed as he sunk into the hot water, sighing loudly.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bath. Back in Ealdor it took a long time to heat water on the stove and then carry it to the bath, but occasionally it had been worth all the effort.

There was only one problem now; Merlin was drawing on his memories of Ealdor with nothing else to distract him. It was something he didn’t want to get into right now and so he cast his gaze around the room, looking for a bar of soap to scrub at his skin. He found one on the floor beside the bath and wondered if he’d be able to use his magic to bring it upwards.

Merlin could still feel his magic, as though it had burst from the container in his chest and run through his body. It was settling all over, under his skin and in his bones, permeating every single cell in Merlin’s body.

“Right,” he muttered though his teeth, “Okay.”

He looked at the soap bar, focusing on it entirely. He felt the magic build inside of himself, rising to his will, and he wished for the soap to come to him with everything he could muster.

It remained stubbornly on the ground though and Merlin clenched his jaw, trying again. When that failed, he brought a hand out of the water, moving it upwards as though the movement would help the soap and his magic.

Merlin was unsure how many times he tried to move the soap, but none of them succeeded and he, eventually, gave up, picking the bar up with his fingers and dipping it into the water.

Even now, when his magic had reacted to Gaius’ and he could use it to help people, it refused to cooperate. What use was his magic when he couldn’t access it, couldn’t do anything with it?

Maybe Gaius would know or, failing that, then any of the other druids. They had acted strangely before around Merlin so maybe there was a reason for it, that they had felt his magic and knew it was different to theirs or… just something, anything. There had to be a reason or else he’d condemned his people to leaving their Island for no other reason than testing his magic, toying with it.

“Merlin?” a voice called from outside, Gaius evidently having returned with clothing. “I’m coming in.”

Scrubbing harder at his skin, Merlin shot Gaius a smile and sloshed slightly in the bath.

“Thank you,” he said before standing, hardly caring that Gaius would see him naked. Merlin had never been a prude before and it was impossible to remain one when you had lived in the harshest of conditions before, where some winters were so bad that you had to huddle up with the livestock and villagers you barely knew just to remain alive.

Besides, he and Will had been running around the beaches of Ealdor naked since they were small children. Just because that particular habit may have stopped hadn’t suddenly brought down waves of embarrassment on Merlin’s part, and he knew just by looking at Gaius that the old man didn’t care either.

Merlin was handed a towel and Gaius made a show of placing the clothes down, letting Merlin know where they were before he moved off to one of the desks, taking seat on one of the benches, pouring out a drink and organising something on the table.

The clothes provided were simple; a blue tunic and brown trousers, clearly made with the help of magic. They were softer than any other clothes Merlin had ever worn and his magic prickled as it recognised the magic that had spun the clothes, causing Merlin to shift a little uncomfortably.

“Here,” Gaius said, gesturing to the bench opposite him and a plate of food next to the cup of water he’d set down.

Merlin tucked into the bread eagerly before looking at the slices of ham in slight reverence.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, looking up at Gaius. Even back on Ealdor meat had been scarce as livestock dwindled.

“We keep animals,” was the simple reply and Merlin wondered if he should just expect the druids to be fully functioning and capable in just about every aspect of life.

“I think we need to talk about you though,” Gaius said seriously. “You were born on Ealdor?”

Merlin swallowed the mouthful of food, eagerly tearing back into the bread before he spoke. “Never left the Island until I came here. That’s what life for us is like,” he added, in case Gaius doubted that he had come from an Island.

Gaius nodded, looking away from Merlin to the tent wall.

“And your parents?” he prompted, turning his gaze onto Merlin and making him feel like a five year old who had been caught sneaking food for a secret picnic.

“My mother was born on Ealdor. Her whole family had been, for generations, and she was all I had left.” Merlin wasn’t going to say anything about his father unless Gaius needed to know.

Even if Gaius had known him, as far-fetched as that was, Balinor was still just a secret Merlin could hold in his chest and not have to talk to anyone about. No one had known Balinor, and neither did Merlin save for the fact his father had passed his magic down to him, their hidden, secret connection.

“I don’t want to pry,” Gaius began slowly. “But your father?”

“Dead. He died a long time ago,” Merlin was quick to say. He avoided Gaius’ eyes, as if that could stop the man from continuing his questions.

“I know we hardly know each other,” Gaius said softly, “But there’s something that you need to know, something that could change everything for you. I cannot tell you, however, unless you tell me who your father was.”

He didn’t know why he was uneasy to tell Gaius about his father, not really. He could already tell that Gaius knew the answer – why else would he be so pushy? – and that his answer would, as Gaius had said, change everything for Merlin. Still, there was a part of him that wanted to keep the answer hidden, keep everything simple.

Merlin knew that, whatever it was Gaius wanted to hear and whatever he was going to say after, would make things more complex. It was something larger than just Merlin alone, something that was terrifying, something Merlin didn’t want to think about. He was only there to find his family; he didn’t need to hear what the druids wanted.

“My father wasn’t born on Ealdor,” Merlin admitted slowly, ignoring the breath Gaius sucked in. “His name was Balinor and my mother said he fled Camelot.”

He turned his gaze to look at Gaius, noting the shock in the old man’s eyes and wondering what was so special about his father, what was so special about Merlin himself for that matter.

“My boy,” Gaius said quietly, shaking his head slightly. “I knew your father.”

Although he’d guessed as much, it was still a shock to hear Gaius say such a thing. Merlin looked at him before turning away.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I never knew him and my mother never spoke of him until she found out my magic had returned. And even then…” Merlin cut himself off, trying not to think of all the things he’d never had, possibly never would. “But why does my father change everything? He left Camelot, he’s dead.”

Gaius nodded slowly. “That much is true,” he said, taking a sip from his own goblet and sighing. “Your father was a trusted member of King Uther’s court.”

Whatever Merlin had been expecting to hear about his father, it hadn’t been this. Balinor was supposed to be just a man, perhaps a noble one, for Hunith had mentioned he knew Queen Ygraine, but never a trusted man. A trusted man wouldn’t turn his back on a kingdom and flee without reason, after all.

“Obviously you know nothing of Camelot’s history, but around twenty years ago, Queen Ygraine vanished.” There was something more, something Gaius didn’t want to say, but it was hardly Merlin’s place to pry. “King Uther was furious, hoping to pin the blame on the people the queen had trusted in hope they’d come forward and tell him where she was, but none of them took the bait.”

Barely processing what Gaius was saying, Merlin nodded quickly, wanting to hear more.

“Nobody knows the true circumstances of what happened to Ygraine, but her friends were either cast out of the Court or exiled from Camelot itself. Your father was one of the exiled and he chose to set out over the oceans rather than remain with us.” Gaius’ voice was weary and it was just then that another thought hit Merlin.

“You’re speaking as if you were there,” he pointed out, already guessing that Gaius had been there.

“I was,” Gaius acknowledged, bowing his head a little. “I was appointed Court Physician at a young age and I lived to serve my King and Queen. When…” Gaius paused, brow furrowing. “After everything that had happened, it was too dangerous to remain in Camelot.”

Merlin wanted to ask why, push Gaius further, but he knew he had no right to. He might never know the full story behind the Queen’s disappearance, or why Gaius had chosen to flee when he had mentioned being the king’s man as much as the queen’s, but Merlin wasn’t on Ealdor anymore and he had to content himself with what he did know, rather than what he wanted to know.

“I can’t tell you everything,” Gaius said and Merlin nodded. “Given time, I might have to – though I hope it doesn’t come to that. But you have to be told about the prophecy, which was why I needed to know who your father was.”

Sucking in a breath, Gaius began again. “Magic was once great and prosperous across the land. Even when the Floods rose and the Sky Cities were built, magic helped forge kingdoms. Only small acts, the main power of the land was lost years ago, but it was still an integral part of the New World.”

Merlin watched as Gaius clutched his goblet, clearly thinking about how he could phrase the rest of what he needed to say.

“Most of the natural magic, such as the creatures and the places of ancient wonder, were lost to the water. The first rulers sent an expedition to hone out a cave buried under the water, a place that was rumoured to be the beginning of all magic.” Gaius looked over to where Merlin had placed his Obsidian on a table by the bath, nodding to it.

“That crystal comes from that cave. It is a device of prophecy, one that even the most powerful sorcerers feared.” He paused, darting a look over to Merlin. “Before they were locked away, a prophecy was made that a man would rise up to save his people. The name they gave to that man,” Gaius said, eyes meeting Merlin’s, “Was Emrys of the Ocean.”

Looking away, Merlin wanted to deny it. Sure his magic was meant for something, but not that. Nothing great as saving people, nothing as big as having a prophecy hanging over his head. He was just a simple boy from an Island, nothing more. He wasn’t destined to do anything except find the dragon, tell him he’d lied and…

Oh.

The dragon hadn’t lied, had it? It had called him Emrys of the Ocean and told him to save his people. Only Merlin had assumed he’d meant the people of Ealdor, but it was much, much too big for that.

“Only those with great power could even dream of wielding the stones,” Gaius continued, ignoring the fact that Merlin wasn’t sure he could take much more. “And even then it takes a considerable amount of training to even sustain a connection with the stones, let alone use them.”

Merlin looked over to the Obsidian, dark and mysterious where it lay.

“But I saw Camelot in it. I was in Queen Ygraine’s garden, talking to a dragon. I know it was real, he called me Emrys of the Ocean Gaius!” Merlin was aware that his voice had risen, but he was too tired to care.

Gaius knew all the answers, or at least it felt that way. He’d be able to tell Merlin what to do, without this nonsense of a prophecy or whatever. He’d be able to tell Merlin how to find the dragon, how to find his family and ignore everything that he was being told he had to do.

Almost afraid to look at Gaius, unsure what expression the man might be wearing, Merlin closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. It was too much, far too much to take in. He wanted to sleep, and when he woke, he’d discover this was all just a twisted dream, a product of his imagination and nothing more.

“I believe you,” the old man said quietly, the words rushing through Merlin like a fast current, cold under his skin. “I knew your father well and I’ve seen what he was capable of.”

Merlin opened his eyes. “He had magic?” he asked slowly, not even trying to wrap his head around the huge complication his life had just become. It was hard to fathom that Gaius knew his father, let alone knew him so well.

If Merlin was less tired, he might have thought more about the fact that everything was too big a coincidence, everything fit too nicely together. But he was tired, only just able to listen to what Gaius was saying, and so he stored it in his mind amongst the many other questions to ask.

“We all thought that your father was the man in the prophecy. When… when the queen vanished and we were exiled, we thought that your father would do something, that he would save us all.” Gaius’ face was weary and Merlin wondered how much he had sacrificed all for the hope of a prophecy that might never come true.

“He kept telling us that he wasn’t the one the prophecy meant.” Another frown and Merlin knew that Gaius was thinking how to edit his next words, to keep his own secrets or those of Balinor, Merlin wondered.

“Your father had a certain type of magic that allowed him to know of the future. He couldn’t use the power himself fully, but he was gifted with certain bits of knowledge, and he said that he’d seen who the prophecy spoke of and that he’d bring him back when they were ready.” Gaius fixed Merlin with a pointed look, waiting for his answer.

“You think he saw me?” Merlin shook his head, “I mean, that he knew it was me?”

Although he didn’t look at Merlin, choosing instead to refill his goblet from the jug on the table, Gaius looked thoughtful and nodded.

“There’s something…” he trailed off, glancing up at Merlin. “I would have to talk to… but I’m sure…”

Merlin finished the food on his plate, the slight interest that had risen in his chest bubbling away as a wave of tiredness swept through him. He yawned and Gaius stood from the table, gathering a few blankets from around the room.

“Aglain will want to speak with you later as well, but I think it’s best that you sleep for now. I’ll wake you up when you’re needed, and if there’s anything I can get for you, just ask.” Gaius looked sympathetic, clearly understanding everything that Merlin had been through the past few days.

He left Merlin to walk over to his part of the tent, pulling back the extra flap and falling down onto the bed. It was confortable, with a wooden frame and padded mattress, and Merlin couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d slept on a proper bed.

“Thank you,” he called out, hoping Gaius would hear him, before closing his eyes and falling asleep, swathed in blankets and head tucked tight against the thin pillow.

**.**

Merlin woke hazily, eyes thick with sleep and sight blurred. He rubbed a hand over his eyelids and wondered what the time was, and whether he had to help around the house that day, when everything rushed back. He wasn’t in Ealdor, but at the druid camp and Gaius’ home.

He got up, legs a little shaky, and moved into the main part of the tent. Though he was barefoot, the floor was made of smooth stone and, albeit cold, he walked comfortably over to where a jug lay, pouring himself a glass of water.

The tent flap leading to the rest of the camp was pulled back and Gaius stepped through, Eigyr in tow. Her eyes, if possible, were even wider and she clutched something to her chest.

“Ah, Merlin. Good, you’re already up.” Gaius smiled and Merlin returned the gesture. Even though Gaius was clearly keeping secrets, his father had trusted these people and spent a good part of his life with them. It meant that Merlin could trust them too, and besides, he couldn’t sense anything malicious inside of Gaius and his magic had liked the old man well enough.

It wasn’t Gaius who approached him though, but Eigyr, and she came to stand before Merlin, something like concern in her eyes.

“Here,” she said quietly, almost too quietly for Merlin to hear.

She’d held out a book, one that Merlin almost snatched as he recognised it. Eigyr moved back at the sudden movement and Merlin looked at her, an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he said, “It’s just… I’ve seen this book before.”

Eigyr nodded. “Your father gave it to me before he left.”

Looking at her, Merlin wondered where Eigyr fit into this. Had she been a woman Balinor had loved and left just because he knew a prophecy wouldn’t be fulfilled? Had he left her alone without a word or had Merlin’s father owned up to what he had to do, giving her a book so that she could remember him?

“He was a good friend of mine, and of my husband. He would have wanted me to give it to you, said that there would be a time when I’d know what to do with the book and, well, you’re here.” She smiled slightly before inching forwards, Merlin holding himself still.

Now that she was closer, cupping his cheek tenderly, Merlin could see she was hardly that much older than his own mother, probably around the same age in fact. She was young and yet she had a heavy weight bearing down on her shoulders, pushing her to the edge of weariness.

She stroked his cheek for a moment, lost in her own thoughts, and Merlin wondered if she had once been a mother. She was alone here, apart from Gaius, but maybe once, up in Camelot, she’d had a family, a husband and a child perhaps.

Where were they now? Back in Camelot? Laid to rest in the water? Left the druid camp like Balinor had, except without the thought of a prophecy in the back of their minds?

As if she suddenly realised what she was doing, Eigyr pulled back her hand and looked away, taking a few steps back.

“I managed to convince Aglain not to question you tonight. Both Eigyr and I thought that you needed to know more about Camelot and what everyone expects from you.” Gaius spoke up clearly, gesturing for Merlin and Eigyr to sit at the table. Food was laid down across the surface and Merlin tucked in eagerly, after receiving a nod from Gaius that he could.

“There’s a lot to get through,” Gaius began. “And most of it will be an edited, condensed version, but you need to know it all.”

Eigyr rolled a ball of dough between her fingers, nodding absently and Gaius began, filling Merlin’s head with knowledge he had only gleaned from crumpled magazines and old stories.

Gaius told him how the Sky Cities were first thought up, centuries ago. Governments had started building the massive towers before the floods had hit, seeing a need for them in the future. Only they hadn’t been ready when the first floods had hit and so, desperate, magic users had been called in to help fortify what had been built.

“They played a crucial role,” Gaius stressed and Merlin wondered why he’d never heard of it. Through all the magazines and the stories, there had never been a whisper of magic, but now it was playing a crucial role?

“It was kept quiet,” Gaius continued, “As people didn’t understand magic, preferring sciences and rational explanations to myth and wonder.”

He went on then to explain how sorcerers had helped craft the towers, using the basic elements of their trade. The seeing stones had played important roles in the early days of the Sky Cities, used to bolster the electrical connections between different Cities.

Eventually though, magic across the land lessened and the Floods drowned the rest of the world. Magic had fallen back into mystery and forgotten largely by the general public. The connections with other Sky Cities had fallen too and, Gaius added, and for all they knew, Camelot could be the only one standing.

“Magic was still used in the Court though,” Gaius said. “The people went on with their day not needing it, but they never knew how much the Court relied on it.”

Not many people had magic at all and even few were capable of the easiest spells, but they had all channelled their powers together when they were needed. Again, though, over time, the practice had fallen and magic was no longer a skilled gift, resorting to parlour tricks as the monarchy brought up alternatives to magic, boosting electricity and the cyber connections all through the City.

“Traditionally the Seeing Stones were looked after by the King and Queen of Camelot, but by the time the current king – King Uther – took the throne, even that had died out largely, leaving the Stones to the queens of Camelot.” Gaius’ gaze flickered to Eigyr for a moment before he continued.

“Ygraine tended to the garden like the queens before her, allowing those who believed they had talent to use the garden. No one could harness the stones’ powers, not even your father who was commended for being a strong magician alongside his other talents.”

Each time Gaius flippantly mentioned that his father had had magic, Merlin felt a swirl of butterflies in his stomach. He had so much more than a leather-bound book now or a brief conversation of his father, a legacy that had been passed on and it was one that was practically living, an entity itself.

“You need to understand that the Sky Cities have been unchanged in their principles for years now. Without… without what they have now, the Cities would never have been able to be built and millions of people would have died.” Gaius’ face was drawn sharp, sadness radiating from him.

Suddenly, Merlin didn’t want to know what he had to say. Whatever the next words were going to be, they weren’t going to be nice ones.

“There is a secret Camelot holds close. Only the most trusted in the Court are aware of it and the people are completely clueless.” He looked over to Eigyr once more as she shifted uncomfortably.

“The Pickings,” Gaius continued, “Aren’t what they seem. I still don’t know how they choose the individuals, but the fate that awaits them in the Tower is a far cry from what their families wish for them.”

Merlin was about to ask what was so terrible when Eigyr answered the question simply.

“They never get to the city itself.” Her voice was strong and disgusted, and Merlin could see her in that moment as a woman of the Court. “Instead they are taken down to the base of the main Tower and placed into what the Police like to call Sleeping Chambers.”

She closed her eyes before continuing. “It’s true they are sedated, but they are the sole force Camelot can survive with its electrical spheres and cyber-network.”

She faltered and Gaius nodded, laying a hand over hers affectionately.

“Everyone, no matter who you are, is born with a trace of magic. It’s dormant and would never be able to give the person powers, however weak, but a team of sorcerers have managed to harness the power. They drain the magic from these people using the stones, though I’m still not completely sure how they use them.”

Merlin looked between them, trying to wrap his head around what was going on.

Camelot was part of the New World. It was supposed to be a utopia, beautiful and shining as it rose into the sky. It was a beacon of hope for those stranded, proof that humans had survived the worst and could continue on, no matter what.

And what was it all built on? Exploitation of hopeful refugees wanting the best for their children. Merlin could remember the rumours running through the camp, mothers huddling close to their children as the Pickings took place. Their eyes had been distrustful and wary, unsure why exactly their children were wanted but not trusting the ‘better life’ idea that others held.

“If they’re providing the city with power and its glamour, why are there still refugees camped out on its doorstep? And this tower can’t be the only one they’ve clustered around… thousands of people are out here and they’re just, what, waiting until they can be picked off to be drained of their lives?” Merlin’s voice had risen furiously. Camelot was supposed to be his salvation and yet now he was learning that it would have been better to stay on Ealdor, to die an honest death than come to this place.

“How many people do you think Camelot can hold?” Gaius asked, voice sad. “And how many people do you think are there already? The supporting towers are useless, they simply reinforce the one Camelot is built upon. People can’t live in the darkness of the Tower either, and most of that is blocked in to support the main city’s bulk.”

He had a point, Merlin realised. When the world had flooded, people had to have run somewhere. At first the doors to the Sky Cities may have been thrown open, but realistically that couldn’t have lasted. How many people were there to sustain? How many people could live in the clouds without the Tower crumbling? Gaius had mentioned that magic had helped to build the tower, what if the absence of magic was making the tower weaker?

Evidently Gaius knew what he was thinking, for he nodded miserably.

“It was how they tried to sell it to us when we found out. Let a few be taken and sedated or allow millions to die? It’s not a choice we could make, if such a choice was ever allowed, and so we were cast out of Camelot.” Gaius’ voice was hollow, the weight of the words carrying their own impact.

So that was it then. A shining world built upon thousands of children sleeping at the base of the tower. Did they all survive? How many died? And even though they protected the rest of Camelot, how could a king sleep at night knowing what he had hidden inside of his Tower?

“Is it worth it?” Merlin said instead, tired of everything. What was the point anymore? Was Camelot even worth all the grief it had caused? Merlin was beginning to doubt the safety Camelot was rumoured to provide.

“You mean is it worth practically killing hundreds to sustain thousands? No, but there isn’t any other way at the moment. Or at least there wasn’t.” With this, Gaius settled a look on Merlin.

“The prophecy,” Merlin said, his voice flat. Both Eigyr and Gaius nodded eagerly, smiling at Merlin.

“It’s what Aglain wants to speak to you about. Now that you’re here, he’ll probably tell you that you need to save the people at the refugee camp.” Gaius shook his head as Merlin opened his mouth. “Only we know the complete truth and it has to stay that way. The balance of magic is too precarious as it is; throwing panic through the refugee camps isn’t going to help anyone.”

Merlin wanted to ask Gaius how much he really knew, how much he knew about helping people. He wanted to know what Gaius had done before he’d come down here, the same of Eigyr, and why they hadn’t trusted the druids. Surely a revolution from down here would echo up to Camelot, or at least be noted by the Police running the Pickings.

Instead, he nodded, running a thumb over the book in his lap.

“I think… well I’d like to be alone.” Gaius nodded, eager to let Merlin alone with his thoughts.

“We’ll let you rest. We just thought… that you ought to know what Aglain expects from you. He doesn’t know the full truth, almost no one does any more, but you need to know it.” There was a flicker of muted hope in the back of Gaius’ eyes, as if Merlin wanting to think things over meant that he’d reach one conclusion; that he’d save them all.

He spared a glance for Eigyr as he stood, her face pale as usual and eyes wide. She was an oddity to Merlin, but she didn’t spare the same hope for him and he was thankful. She, at least, realised that Merlin was still just a person and wouldn’t be able to do anything. Even if Gaius had told her of the power he’d seen in Merlin’s magic, she was realistic.

He pulled back his tent flap and let the heavy material fall back, blocking out whatever Gaius and Eigyr were doing. They could have been whispering about him, about his destiny, about anything in the world and Merlin couldn’t have brought himself to care.

Tomorrow he’d think about it, but for now all he wanted to do was fall back into bed and enter a world where he wasn’t a hero. Nothing had to change tonight and he could pretend, most likely for the last time, that he was just a normal Islander, locked up against a raging storm that had been threatening to break for days and was finally shattering over them all.

**.**

Waking from dreams he couldn’t remember, Merlin opened his eyes slowly, information filtering into his consciousness slowly. He remembered the gruelling journey through the camp, following Mordred and then entering the life of the druids in the Drowned World, the Wastelands of the Sky Cities.

The main tent was empty, something for which Merlin was thankful, and he sat down at the benched table, noticing Gaius had left out food for him. Simple, just bread and cheese, but Merlin was deeply grateful for it.

He wouldn’t be able to ignore what was going to be said today. Aglain would no doubt want him to prove his worth as the prophesised saviour and the other druids (assuming this was an open meeting) would also want proof. And, yes, Merlin knew that he could use the Obsidian stones where no sorcerer for hundreds of years had been able to without help, but what use was that when he had a whole city to save?

Merlin didn’t even want to think of what he’d do in the event that he did save them. The refugees out here were kept away from Camelot as there was no room, where would they all go if Merlin freed the slaves?

Gaius reappeared some time later, entering the tent briskly and nodding to Merlin.

“Aglain’s called a circle. He wants to speak with you now.”

They left the tent, passing rows of similar tents, grubby children and tired adults smiling as they passed. Although they had the same world-weary look as the refugees, no one in the Wastelands was unhappy. They smiled and laughed, sure signs that they were content to live here, sustained partially by magic that almost no one remembered.

Although it was most likely day time, the area that the druid camp lay was in the shadows of the Tower and there was only a little light in the air, giving it an appearance as though it was early morning or late evening.

Aglain wasn’t the only person present for the meeting. Other druids, all cloaked and tucking into various bowls of food, were seated down too, all huddled around a stoked fire. The warmth was appreciated and Merlin took a seat beside Gaius on an old sofa, the material stained by its stint in the Wastelands, but it was still comfortable enough.

“Emrys,” Aglain greeted warmly, smiling widely and turning around to the others. “We’re honoured to have you in our presence at long last.” The words were overly showy, most likely to try and appeal to Merlin’s better side.

It was strange to have someone clearly trying to suck up to you, to be clearly willing to do anything you’d command of them. Merlin knew that if he demanded twenty of the toxic fish to be brought out of the water, a handful of druids would run to fulfil his orders, all because of a prophecy made years ago.

“Gaius had probably told you about the prophecy and your role in it?” At Merlin’s nod, he continued. “Do you know how you’ll achieve it?”

While it was an innocent enough question, probably one that Merlin should have seen coming after all, he simply froze, eyes widening. It was one thing to know that you were part of a prophecy, but another entirely when people actually expected you to be able to carry out the prophecy, to actually do something and end the suffering of thousands.

Even though it had named him, how could Merlin do something like that? He didn’t know the first thing about saving people or using his magic, let alone using his magic to save people. He had power, that much was simple to see, but what use was it when he couldn’t control it?

“I don’t know,” he admitted. Gaius patted his hand gently, his presence reassuring when so many pairs of eyes were pinned to Merlin’s frame.

A few mutters broke out at that, but Aglain himself didn’t seem so concerned.

“We can test your magical talents,” he said calmly, offering Merlin a wide smile. “And we can build on what your magic is, bring it out from its latent phase.”

Gaius shuffled where he sat and Merlin looked at him briefly, noticing the frown on his brow.

“We have devised meditation techniques,” Aglain added, also shooting Gaius a look. It was clear the old man wasn’t happy with what the druid leader had said, but Aglain was working hard to fix the slight error in his words. “Which will be able to help you find your focus and draw on your power.”

Thankfully, Gaius didn’t mention that Merlin wouldn’t exactly need much to draw on the power, it was just to control and use it that he needed the directional help in. From what Merlin had heard of magic, it wasn’t exactly a power store in anyone else but him and he wanted to keep this fact hidden for as long as he could. These people (and how many more?) already looked at him in slight reverence and they knew nothing about him. What would happen when they found out that he’d made himself glow in the middle of the sea, that he could use the Obsidians where no one had for decades?

Merlin turned his attention back to Aglain, who was looking at him openly, face warm.

If they had met in any other circumstances, Merlin was sure he’d like Aglain a lot. He seemed like a nice man, one who would do whatever he could for his people, but he expected hope to fall and their salvation to run free just because Merlin was here now. He expected too much, Merlin could see it weighted in his eyes.

Even so, Merlin knew he had to reply and, most importantly, stay on all of the druids’ good side. They had been good to him, were good people in general, and was it so terrible they clung to hope? Back in Ealdor their hope had been the Sky Cities, so why should these people be any different when they thought they could all have a better life?

“I’d appreciate any help I can get,” Merlin said, meaning the words. Even if he couldn’t do anything to save them, he could at least do something with his magic. It was there for something and if that something could help him to reach the dragon (at the very least), then he’d be happy.

A few people murmured amongst themselves. Merlin couldn’t hear the individual responses, the general tone was positive, save for a group directly to Merlin’s right. The people there were huddled together, sharing dark looks and it wasn’t long before they made themselves heard.

“He’s just a boy!” someone called out, and Merlin looked over to where a rugged man stood, anger clear on his face.

Aglain frowned in obvious disapproval. “While your input it appreciated, now is not the time-“

“No,” the man interrupted again. “I’ve told you; we need Mordred. He’s the only one with the power to be able to master one of the Stones. He’s the one we need to look to as a saviour, not this boy.”

His words were accompanied with a sneer and Merlin placed the name after he’d mentioned Mordred; this had to be Alvarr.

“That’s enough,” another druid said, rolling their eyes. “Even if the wild child did have the power to be able to wield a stone, where are we going to get one from?”

The druids shook their head, laughing as Alvarr’s face contorted into something ugly and bitter. He didn’t take his seat though, instead challenging everyone else seated with defiance.

“You know I’m right Gaius,” he said, looking directly at the old man.

In the short time he had spent with the druids, Merlin knew Gaius was a respected man in their community. He was vastly knowledgeable about many things, and what little he didn’t know, he was able to apply logic and research from the few books he possessed. It made him valuable to men like Alvarr, when they were so convince that they were right and needed the proof to be confirmed in front of everyone else.

“If you had asked me a few days ago, my answer would have been affirmative.” Alvarr looked smug at the answer, but Gaius wasn’t done. “However, Mordred would have to spend time aligning his power with the stone and build up his magic. That could take years in itself, and even then there’s no guarantee it would work, or his magic would be strong enough to channel into the Obsidian stones.”

He looked at Merlin then, gaze firm. “Merlin, on the other hand, has already used the Obsidian. On multiple occasions, he has been inside of Camelot, to Queen Ygraine’s gardens and the place where the Stones were harmonised.”

Gaius’ words drew shocked gasps from around the camp and a thunderous look from Alvarr. Although he might not have liked the attention, Merlin understood why Gaius had told Alvarr about his magical pursuits. The man was aggressive and while he’d only known him for a short while, Merlin could tell he was the sort who would prefer to turn to violence and have things done his way quickly.

Camelot didn’t need someone like Alvarr. It was people like Alvarr who had caused the problems in the first place, most likely, thinking that stealing magic to power the city was the easiest way to solve the problem.

“Him? He’s just an outsider, a boy. He doesn’t have power to wield a stone, even if you all think he’s this Emrys.” Alvarr’s face was contorted in a sneer, his eyes challenging as they bored into Merlin’s.

There was nothing Merlin could do to challenge the accusation either. While he had the power to use the Obsidian, he couldn’t exactly show that to the druids. As far as Merlin knew, he simply went to sleep - looked like he was asleep rather – when using the stone. That wouldn’t prove anything to Alvarr, and there wasn’t any other trick he could perform that would be able to show his abilities.

“So the alternative is to manipulate a child?” Gaius spoke firmly, eyes fixed on Alvarr as he rose to stand, making sure they were level across the camp.

The few people who had been tittering amongst themselves quietened at the sudden and direct challenge Gaius had laid before Alvarr. The other man drew himself up, a slightly curl of a smile on his lips as he accepted the challenge.

“He was born as one of the Urchin children. I’d be providing a better life for him,” Alvarr said easily, shifting his weight onto one side and relaxing slightly.

“Do you know what the power of the Stones can do if you do not have the power to wield the correctly?” Gaius’ voice was harsh and reprimanding, as if Alvarr was a child who had touched something they’d been told not to. “Did you know, for example, that if the person using the stones doesn’t connect with the ancient magic quickly enough, their own magic will be sucked from their body and they will die?”

Alvarr’s look was thunderous, but Gaius wasn’t finished just yet.

“It took the ancient sorcerers decades to master how to use the stones for small tasks, such as divining minor prophecies. Only a few in history were ever able to use them as communication channels on their own and unsupported by a team of sorcerers.” Gaius held out an arm, hand waving in Merlin’s direction.

“This boy, as you called him,” Gaius said, spitting out the word ‘boy’ as if it was an offensive curse, “Used the communication channels of the ancient stones. Such channels haven’t existed for almost two decades now and yet Merlin was able to use the shadow of a connection and move through the Stones.”

Gaius paused, letting the word sink in for everyone around. Even Merlin himself was waiting to hear more, hardly believing what Gaius was telling them. It couldn’t be possible that he’d done something so powerful so easily. The stone had called to him, that was all, yet everyone was acting as though Merlin had achieved a miracle.

To them, maybe he had. Maybe it was their way of knowing he was their Emrys without any reserves. Even Alvarr looked as if he was backing down, shooting Merlin a few hollow glances, frown appearing on his face.

“If you honestly believe that Mordred will be able to do that then, by all means, train him up.” Gaius rolled his eyes. “But why do you think the child’s still out there? He’s smart enough to know that you won’t leave him alone and that leaving us was the only chance he had not to have his magic pulled from him.”

Aglain coughed lightly then and Gaius looked to the druid leader, bowing his head slightly and taking his seat. The argument was clearly over now and Gaius had said his piece, both to Alvarr and Merlin.

“We shall devise some tests and training methods for you then Emrys,” Aglain said, shooting a dark look in Alvarr’s direction. He was obviously unhappy at how outspoken the man had been and Merlin wondered if the druids could scorn their own.

It seemed a strange thing to so when there were so little people left in the world, or more correctly in the same, direct world as you, but if what Alvarr wanted to do was true, he had to know and understand the risks. Mordred clearly didn’t want any part in the plan, but how far would Alvarr push if he could get what he wanted? Merlin was at a loss to explain why he wanted to be the one to save them all, yet if he could have handed it over, Merlin would have given the honour to Alvarr in the blink of an eye.

“I’m sure Gaius will be able to fill you in on some basics before we get started,” Aglain continued and Gaius nodded, his mouth thinning.

The druids stood then and, almost as one, bowed in Merlin’s direction. For the first time in a long while, Merlin felt a flush creep onto his cheeks, unused to the attention. A few people even approached him, shaking his hand with bright smiles and words of adoration that Merlin, no matter what any prophecy said, knew he didn’t deserve.

Gaius took him back to their tent, telling Merlin to sit down at the table and piling books in front of him.

“Read,” was all he said, so Merlin did.

The books themselves were basic tools of a wise man’s trade. There was one on anatomy and physiology, though the book was annotated to include the position of magic and its effect on the body. Another detailed local flora, hand drawn and bound by someone in the druid camp, lovingly created. The last one, though, was a thick tome with an elaborate front cover. The design swirled over the front and Merlin ran a finger over it tentatively, never having seen such a fancy book before.

Upon opening it, Merlin realised that it wasn’t an ordinary book. He looked over to where Gaius was using a pestle and mortar to grind some plant leaves in surprise.

“A book of spells?” he asked softly, eyebrows creeping up to his hairline. Merlin had never even considered the possibility that such things existed, let alone that Gaius would possess one.

Placing the pestle down in the bowl, Gaius smiled and nodded.

“It was given to me back in Camelot, but I don’t have much use for it. I’ve mastered the spells I’m capable of and they only equate to a small portion of the book.” He looked at the book with fondness in his eyes, clearly remembering better times than he’d landed with now. “Aglain will most likely just train you through meditation, but it’s not going to be enough.”

He quietened for a moment, thinking about something.

“I felt your power and even though you might not realise it, you could be the only warlock to never run out of magic. Quite frankly it scares me how much power you have and the fact that it seems limitless.” Merlin looked away, unsure what to say at that. “But it’s also amazing. When I felt your magic… it was energising. It’s almost as if you’re connected to the ancient magic itself, and if I’m honest, it would make more sense than anything else I can fathom.”

Turning back to the book, Merlin smiled and thanked Gaius sincerely. He spent the hours between lunch and dinner reading, committing the odd words to memory and testing them out with his tongue, silently.

As he read them, Merlin felt knowledge creep into him, as if just by reading the old language he could remember what the words meant. Odd letters begun to make sense, as if Merlin was reading his own tongue rather than one of ancient magic. He mentioned as much to Gaius, who looked at him with an amused smile.

“I wondered whether you’d understand the spells. I have another book that goes with that one with the translations of the spell and what they do.” He shook his head lightly, “You never cease to amaze me.”

Merlin threw himself back into reading and it wasn’t until he’d turned the last page of the book that he noticed candles around him, almost all of them burnt down to the last of the wick. Gaius wasn’t in his bed yet, but Merlin felt guilty all the same and pushed the book to the centre of the table, moving to his tent-room and crawling into bed.

It was here, without the book to distract him, that he thought about everything Aglain had said, about how much hope the druids had already placed in him when all they knew was his name. It was ridiculous and Merlin needed to get away, find something that didn’t expect him to split Camelot apart and return the world to how it was before the floods.

It was easy to sink under the influence of the stone after so long. His magic curled curiously over the Obsidian, greeting it like a long-lost friend, before the stone responded in turn, pulling Merlin in until he stood in the moon-lit gardens of the lost Queen Ygraine.

Now that he knew of the terrible truths behind the glorious Camelot, it was easy for Merlin to spot the artificial edge to the moonlight, the way it would occasionally flicker although the sky (again artificial) was clear of clouds.

Walking to the throne took longer than usual, but Merlin was paying more attention to the world around him this time. The garden was monochrome, flowers wilting as if realising that the whole of Camelot relied on magic dispelled any of the lies and trickery the city bestowed on onlookers.

Perhaps the rest of the city was blinding in its technology, flashy lights and strategic shadows, dimming the artificial edge to the world. Maybe the people of Camelot lived half-lives, buried inside their cyber-network and in too deep to pull their heads out to seek the truth.

When he reached the throne, it was as it had always been. It seemed as if this was the only point in the garden that was real, that actually existed outside of the forced magic and splendour. Queen Ygraine had sat here once, regal and beautiful as the stones had surrounded her.

He’d never noticed it before, but the columns that lined the garden fell in circular shapes. It was clear that the Obsidians had been mounted on the pillars, guarded and loved as was the duty of the queen, until they’d fallen to ruin, stolen down into the base of the tower as the smaller crystals failed in their job to collect sufficient amounts of power. Only Merlin’s crystal – to all knowledge – had ended up outside of the tower, and that was probably down to someone’s stupidity than Merlin’s destiny.

The dragon wasn’t there, but that was okay. Merlin had all the time in the world to wait for him and so he sat on the ground, closing his eyes and trying to feel the magic rolling through Camelot.

Although he was unsure the exact location of the queen’s gardens, Merlin thought that they had to be in the heart of Camelot. Listening to the world around offered no clues, though he could feel a slight, sluggish pulse of magic around him, clearly the magic Gaius and Eigyr had spoken of running as lifeblood for Camelot.

Merlin didn’t know how long he waited there, but he felt the change when the dragon appeared. It was as though there was an opening in the space before him, the magic parting to allow something else, something brimming with energy, pass through before closing again. He opened his eyes to see a blurred figure, definitely more human than of a dragon.

The image flickered, like a candle’s flame, and it was the dragon that stepped forwards, tilting its head to look at Merlin curiously.

“Emrys of the Ocean,” it said slowly, sitting down and curling its tail around its body. “I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

Though ‘weeks’ was probably an understatement, Merlin held the same sentiment. He smiled dryly and commented,

“Not for lack of trying.” It felt good to talk to someone he shared a connection with. The dragon hadn’t known anything about Ealdor or about Merlin in general, but he was still a link back to the small, drowning Island. He was still part of the past Merlin had lost and it just felt nice to have someone who could be linked back to that still here.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Merlin began, biting his lip. “It’s just… Gaius told me about the prophecy. I can’t… I mean they all expect me to be able to do something, but I can’t…”

Merlin looked at the dragon, shaking his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about something like that now, not when he had the chance to talk about something different. And, yes, the dragon had been the one in the first place to mention his connection to the prophecy, but they had moved past that.

“Gaius?” The dragon gave a little smile. “I used to have a doctor called Gaius. Nice man he was too, used to slip me sweets when my father wasn’t looking.”

Merlin didn’t know what use a dragon had for a doctor, but Camelot was full of endless curiosities that perhaps the art of a physician extended further than Ealdor had been able to teach Merlin.

“He was a good man. I don’t know what happened to him, but I heard he was banished for a crime against the Crown, though I don’t see how.” The dragon was mainly talking to itself now, probably not expecting Merlin to be interested, but at the mention that the man the dragon knew had been banished, a cold, unsettling feeling washed through Merlin.

“Maybe it’s the same man,” he offered tentatively. “After all I’m at the base of Camelot’s Towers and your Gaius couldn’t have gone far.”

The dragon shook his head slowly. “Maybe. Gaius was always a good friend to the queen and I doubt he’d want to leave all of that behind.”

For a woman Merlin knew nothing about, Ygraine held such a key role. Gaius had never indicated that he’d known her, never said that he’d even been around Ygraine unless you counted working for her, so it surely couldn’t have just slipped his mind.

But Gaius was always so careful with his words. About how the Queen Ygraine had vanished and those close to her punished and then about how they had chosen to leave Camelot after learning the horrific truths. What if… What if…

“What happened to the Queen?” Merlin asked suddenly, uncrossing his legs and shifting until he say on his knees.

There was silence for a moment, a large, blue eye studying Merlin as the dragon tilted his head slightly, before he rumbled out an answer. “She died,” he said simply.

“What did she look like?” Merlin pressed on, because the thought wouldn’t leave him and he had to know. If he was correct in thinking, then this would change a lot of things and Merlin would be able to get closer to the truth.

The dragon studied Merlin again before drawing itself up, waving its front legs around. Presumably the real-dragon behind this image was reaching for a picture to show Merlin, and he wasn’t disappointed when, with a small flash of blue light, a picture frame slid between the dragon’s talons.

“Oh,” Merlin breathed as the dragon turned the frame around, holding it out for Merlin to see.

She was beautiful, there was no doubt of that. With her hair curled expertly on the top of her head and a light coloured dress, Ygraine made for the perfect queen. It was hard to see the resemblance between her and Eigyr, but with squinted eyes and imagination, everything slotted into place.

Queen Ygraine hadn’t died or disappeared. When she’d discovered the truth behind Camelot, she hadn’t opposed the king or the court and had, instead, chosen to flee with Balinor and Gaius, to name the two Merlin was aware of. She must have taken stock in the prophecy and known that, one way or another, Balinor would help lead to their salvation, and the thought had been enough.

When she’d entered the druid camp though, and this was the most important point, she hadn’t come as Queen Ygraine of Camelot, but as Eigyr, a silent and shy woman.

“You’re down in the refugee camps?” the dragon said, interrupting Merlin’s whirling thoughts. The revelation was huge, but Merlin pulled his mind from the trail of thought to answer the dragon.

“I’m going to find a way to get into Camelot and then I’ll come and find you. No matter what it takes, I’m going to get my life back.” Merlin’s voice was firm. He stood up, the dragon watching him take a few steps back.

Magic coiled around Merlin once again and the dragon stood suddenly, as if he wanted to say something. It was too late though and Merlin nodded his head, sealing the promise he had just made aloud as he was taken away from Ygraine’s garden and hurled back onto his bed in Gaius’ tent.

“Merlin?” Gaius called out, head peering around the tent flap that divided their rooms. “I felt your magic,” he said, slightly disapprovingly.

“I used the Obsidian stone.” The look Gaius gave him was still disapproving, but Merlin didn’t worry about that right now. He had bigger issues to call the old man out on. “And the dragon showed me a picture of Queen Ygraine.”

He didn’t have to say anything else and Gaius came to sit on his bed, slowly shuffling over.

“I want to know everything,” Merlin said firmly, sick of the twisted words and the half-truths that had built around him since entering the Wastelands.

“Of course,” Gaius said softly. He then told Merlin the full truth, of how Uther had condemned Camelot for good, and of the role the last sorcerer played in the unfolding demise of Camelot.

**.**

Training, by Aglain’s standards, was largely compromised of sitting down on the ground (thankfully the whole of the druid camp set upon on stone floor, most likely from an ancient building that had crumbled down over time) and waiting. Or, as he called it, meditating. Merlin was taught how to breathe, how to feel for his magic and strengthen its power, but it wasn’t much help.

He didn’t have a problem in feeling his magic or strengthening it. He could feel it with his eyes open and mind fixed on something else if he had to and knew that it was already stronger than anything the druids had experienced before.

Still, he didn’t tell any of this to Aglain, instead following the man’s instructions. He already trod around Merlin carefully, as if he had to pander to every whim of the great Emrys and Merlin really didn’t want him learning about his abilities. He didn’t need that added onto everything else at the moment.

In the evenings, after calming sessions with Aglain – they were useful for that and Merlin got time to think, time to process what had happened to him – he went back to Gaius’ tent to practice spells and incantations.

Merlin could now understand the words without needing to translate between them. He no longer had to read the word, convert it and then understand, but could look at the old language and instantly grasp at its meaning. He’d asked Gaius what that meant, but his mentor had merely smiled and clapped him on the back.

“You are a creature of the old magic,” he said, pouring a goblet of water for Merlin and handing it to him. “It’s only natural that the words translate themselves for you using your magic.”

He took a sip of his own drink and Merlin settled the book in his lap, waiting for Gaius to continue.

“Magic wants to be used. People often forget that and just assume that sorcerers stole it from the land, but that’s not true. The magic wanted to be taken and it still does.” Gaius smiled, “Magic hasn’t had a proper person to go through before you; you just need to learn how to channel the energy properly.”

Their sessions usually carried on well past nightfall (measured by the slight sliver of light that drifted in from the edges of the camp) and left Merlin humming by the end, as though his magic penetrated through every pore on his skin, wanting to be seen and wanting to be noticed.

Gaius had given another smile when Merlin mentioned it and shrugged. They didn’t have any knowledge to fall back on other than myths and legends of great sorcerers. They didn’t know if Merlin’s power was becoming equal to those rumoured magicians or whether he had blown their powers out of the water completely.

They had no other way of knowing, though, so Merlin simply kept his head down, followed Aglain’s meditation techniques and followed Gaius’ teachings. He kept out of the way of Alvarr and his followers, still wary of the man despite Gaius’ verbal dressing down of him.

During his time with the druids, Gaius tended to the Wild Children three times, once with each seven passing days. Merlin was never allowed to go with them, Aglain saying his training was at a too crucial stage, but Merlin knew he wasn’t missing much. He would have liked to see Mordred again, to thank him and perhaps talk to him properly, but overall, Merlin hadn’t lost anything and he was more content to stay in the druid camp where people were kinder than those outside of the fence.

So it was a surprise when Aglain dismissed him from training one day, only halfway through - if that. Merlin had turned from their training ground, the same circled area that held the druid’s council, to see Eigyr – Ygraine he corrected himself - standing off by the side, clutching a bag to her side and wide eyed.

Even though he knew she was Queen Ygraine, it was still hard to refer to her as such when she remained unchanged. Even though he knew the truth about her, and of Camelot and the Floods, she hadn’t changed from the shy woman he knew as Eigyr. She still hardly spoke and flitted about like a terrified bird, never resting in a place more than a few moments.

Merlin followed her quietly. They passed through rows of tents and stopped to greet a few other members of the clan before making for the Wastelands, away from the camp entirely.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked, not expecting an answer. For a moment he thought that Eigyr – Ygraine - was going to answer, but she just shook her head balefully. Merlin didn’t press her, instead focusing on where he was treading through the muddy land, careful not to slip into the water.

She took them closer than Merlin had ever been to the inner fence. They were so close that Merlin could pick out individuals along the fence lines and at the lock positioned on the canal leading back out to the refugee gates. Ygraine tugged him down lower until they were both hunch-backed and lolloping over the ground, running slightly.

There was a gnarled tree nearby and Merlin knew it was their destination. It was a scrubby thing, thick trunked and spiky leafed, ugly and seemingly useless. It didn’t matter to Ygraine though and she moved up to stand against the tree, straightening under its swooping branches.

Beckoning Merlin to her side, her eyes darted to the tree and Merlin got the hint that she wanted him to watch. Ygraine pulled a knife and a glass bottle out of the bag at her hip and looked to Merlin to ensure he was watching.

She had a little difficulty in piercing the bark of the tree, but the knife didn’t take too long to sink through, guided by Ygraine’s careful hands. Tree sap seeped from the wound in the tree and she held the bottle to the trunk, collecting the thick sap expertly.

“Gaius uses it to heal,” she said softly, eyes fixed on her work.

Merlin could finally see it. As Ygraine tilted the bottle slightly, pressing her lips together and smoothing part of the gnarled tree with her free hand, he could see why she had been such a good queen for her people.

When Gaius had revealed the full truth behind their exile, he had spoken of how the people loved Ygraine. She was fair and just where Uther might have been harsh and cold, and she’d tended to her people like they were her children. Camelot had been prosperous under her reign and, Gaius had added, it was a good thing they couldn’t see what Uther had done, in case he had shattered everything Ygraine had helped to build.

He could also see how she had cared for the Seeing Stones and, as he thought about them, Merlin’s hand strayed to his pocket, where he kept the stone at all times aside from when he slept. It was his only connection to the dragon and he couldn’t afford to lose it.

Ygraine’s attention drew to him as he slid the stone from his pocket and her eyebrows lifted in slight surprise. Merlin knew she couldn’t have seen one this well since she’d been exiled, some twenty-odd years ago. He offered it gingerly to her, taking the glass bottle from her hands and cupping it under the oozing sap as her fingers closed over the dark surface.

“They were never originally black,” Ygraine whispered after a while.

The bottle was almost full now and Merlin looked over to her, waiting.

“Gaius probably told you of all the circumstances,” she said, eyes focused on the stone. “So you’ll know everything, but around the time of the Great Floods, the stones turned from white crystal to this, changing in their nature. They used to hold the secrets of time, but now they’re used for so much more.”

Her eyes looked to Merlin, wide and honest.

“How did you know who I was? I can’t think of anyone who might keep a picture of me, though I know of a few who might know of me.” Merlin noticed that the more she spoke, the more Ygraine was distancing herself from the meek Eigyr she had forced herself to become.

“When I use the stone,” he began, taking the bottle away from the tree and letting the sap harden and the tree heal itself. “When I use it, it takes me to your gardens.”

Ygraine’s face softened and she closed her hands around the stone, shaking her head softly. “It’s not my garden anymore Merlin. I relinquished any entitlement to Camelot and her luxuries years ago.”

“The dragon said it was your garden,” Merlin persisted. “It’s been untouched ever since you left, except the dragon guards it.”

A line appears between Ygraine’s brows as she frowns. “The dragon?”

Merlin nodded. “He’s helped me, though I didn’t have anything to offer in return. Though considering the connection he had with my father, it’s not that impossible to imagine he’d help me.”

Merlin could remember that part of the tale well. Balinor was one of the last Dragonlords left and had trained directly under the Kings of Camelot. When Uther came to power, he had chosen Merlin’s father to oversee the Dragonlords and Balinor had accepted with ease and a smile. Uther had been his friend and even Balinor hadn’t learnt of the truth then.

There was a story in the Sky City of Camelot. It was painted in pixels and electrical banners throughout the city. It was their history, that the gates of Camelot were open to any and all, including the greatest creatures in existence.

The official histories said that, when the world flooded, the dragons had died. They had been slumbering, deep under the earth or hidden in mountains, eyes closed tightly and they hadn’t been able to wake before the Flood hit. There had been one dragon left and he’d sought out Camelot as a safe beacon.

It was Merlin’s dragon, the last of his kind. The Great Dragon slept in the base of the Sky City, below even the miles of slaves and below the Wastelands, buried into the earth itself. The dragon stayed there because it was safe, because it was protected, and people had forgotten, pushed the story aside as a myth or a fairy tale, never looking past the pages of books to discover more.

The truth, though, was a far cry from anything out of the pages of a book. The dragons hadn’t been sleeping, but had been hunted into extinction centuries before the floods. The dragon race had died even before the Sky Cities were thought up, before the world had choked and died, and certainly before the golden age of man. The Great Dragon was the last of his kind, but he hadn’t sought out Camelot either.

Gaius had explained that the dragon was chained to the base of the Sky City. The stones, though able to pull an individual’s magic from them if used incorrectly, did not have the capability to take so much magic from so many people. The magic in those taken during Pickings was weak, buried deep, deep down, and the stones would never have been able to harmonise to drain even an inkling of the magic to the surface.

Except with a creature born directly from the Old Religion, the strongest and the oldest of its kind to boot, the Obsidian circle that had been created by the weak sorcerers under the king’s command had something to lock on, a bigger power source to boost their power.

A Dragonlord had been needed to command the dragon to drain the energy from the children and adults taken during the Pickings and the king had plenty to pick from. The stones then acted like a conduit, channelling the magic from the human bodies and into the Sky City itself, providing energy and protection for the Tower and Camelot.

When Balinor had been asked to renew the orders placed upon the dragon, after his predecessor had died just over twenty years ago, his refusal had drawn the subject under scrutiny. Whereas before the process of taking the magic had been known only by the sorcerers involved, the Dragonlord and the king, the refusal Balinor gave drew attention and Ygraine and Gaius had discovered the truth.

“Why was he in the garden?” Ygraine asked, a troubled look crossing her face as she drew Merlin out of his thoughts.

“It wasn’t him,” Merlin said, “I mean it was the dragon, but it was… as if he was projecting his image. It wasn’t a perfect image, it flickered out of focus a few times and there was one point where it looked a bit human-like, but it’s definitely the Great Dragon.”

Ygraine took the bottle of tree sap from Merlin’s hand, slotting the stone back into his hand. The Obsidian was warm where she had been holding it and Merlin smiled, knowing that the magic inside of the stone had missed Ygraine as much as she had it.

On the way back to the druid camp, Ygraine showed Merlin a few other places to collect plants that Gaius would need, and then to the edible plants. None of them tasted very nice – usually they were added to the stews and soups the druids favoured – but they were edible and able to fill a belly when needed.

The druid camp was getting closer by the moment, about half an hour’s walk now, when the startling sound of gun fire rang. Ygraine clutched Merlin’s arm as he turned to look behind the way they’d come and, sure enough, a rabble of Urchin Children were fleeing across the Wastelands, ducking their heads as the Police warned them away from the lock.

“They can’t just do that!” Merlin protested, but Ygraine just clutched his arm tighter, shaking her head. Her face was drawn and pale, eyes wide. She tugged at the material on Merlin’s arm, trying to draw him away, but Merlin had to see, had to know that at least one of the children had made it.

The crackle of gun fire sounded again and Merlin saw the Urchins duck, only a handful coming back up. One of them was limping and Merlin wrenched his arm from Ygraine’s clutches, making to help the child.

“Merlin, no!” Ygraine hissed, tugging at his arm with her full strength. Perhaps once she would have been able to stop him, but she was frail and small now, wasted away almost, and Merlin was able to shake her off and stride across the slippery land, headed to the child.

“I have to help,” he called over his shoulder, despite the pleading Ygraine was making.

The gun fire had tapered off now and the Wild Children were backing away fully, creeping over the marshes and clearly heading to the nearest part of the fence that they could. It was a trek, but they were out of the reaches of the guns now and safe, aside from the slick mud and pools of rancid, bog-water.

It happened slowly, Merlin’s foot slipping on the marsh ground at an odd angle. His ankle gave a twinge of pain before giving, just enough that Merlin had to put his weight down hurriedly on his other foot. His other foot slipped too and Merlin’s hip hit the ground, then his shoulder, before the mud gave way.

The water he fell into was murky. There were clumps floating about in it and Merlin scrabbled with arms and legs, trying to kick out of the pool he’d slipped into. As before, in the Ocean and the channel outside the fence, Merlin couldn’t think. He was sinking, lower and lower, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He closed his eyes against the water and thought. He tried to remember everything Aglain and Gaius had been teaching him, everything that he had read; there had to be something that could save him from drowning.

He felt the magic building without his command, wrapping around him like a blanket. It tingled and Merlin shifted uncomfortably, paddling his feet and scraping through the water with his fingers. Unidentified clumps of something hit his cheeks, but Merlin remained focus on the magic and what it was doing.

Gaius had been right when he’d said that magic wanted to be used, Merlin could feel it drawing through the water from beneath the Wastelands, from the Old World. It built up around Merlin until it was pushing him, urging him up out of the water and forcing him to paddle his arms and legs. It took a while and Merlin’s lungs begun to burn, but the magic was there, pushing him up and out of the water.

He scrambled at the bank as he broke the surface, gasping in bog-water and air. Ygraine was there and she grasped Merlin’s arm. Between her and his magic, Merlin managed to slide out of the pool and onto the mud. It coated him thickly, smelly and full of Wasteland decay, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care. He was safe and, more importantly, he was still alive.

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly when he could, looking up at Ygraine standing over him. She still wore a shocked expression, mouth opened slightly as she stared at Merlin.

“What did you do?” she demanded, changing completely from the woman Merlin knew her as. Her eyes flickered with something uncertain.

“I used my magic and…” Merlin trailed off, unsure whether he would sound mad or if she’d believe him.

“Merlin, you glowed.” Ygraine grasped his arm, tugging him up and walking away from the pool and the injured child. Merlin didn’t resist, lost in the past, back to when he’d thought he had stopped the sea and Will had said the same words.

Lost in a daze, Merlin hardly noticed where they were going, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other and following Ygraine’s steps. She never once let go of his wrist, pulling him along like a mother with a disobedient child. It was obvious that Merlin’s fall and subsequent glowing episode had unnerved her, but he couldn’t offer any words of comfort.

They entered the druid camp silently, Ygraine leading the way to Gaius’ tent. A few druids were around, but they didn’t bother with pleasantries this time, instead simply passing them by and entering Gaius’ tent. The man looked up at them in surprise before his jaw slackened as he noticed the state Merlin was in.

“Gaius, he fell in the water,” Ygraine rushed to say, moving to the physician’s side. “He was drowning and then…” She sent a glance in Merlin’s direction, disbelieving look on her face. “He was glowing and then he was pushed from the water.”

It was the most Merlin had ever heard Ygraine say, though as soon as the words were out of her mouth she seemed to draw in on herself again, looking away from Merlin and Gaius and down at the floor.

“Merlin?” Gaius questioned softly, turning his gaze from Ygraine to look at him curiously. “What happened?”

Merlin told Gaius how they’d seen the children being attacked, and how one had been injured.

“The Sky City people kill all who aren’t from their world so it doesn’t surprise me,” Gaius said sadly. “If the injured one has a chance of surviving, they’ll come to me when we next give out supplies. If they don’t come, there would have been no hope anyway. The Wild Children are hardy sorts, the kind who can walk around with a gaping wound for weeks and not notice.”

Though it was hard to imagine, the children weren’t able of communicating properly, having been raised alone. They were a pack of wild animals more than humans and Merlin could believe that they were hardy and strong. Still, it didn’t ease the discomfort he felt and it certainly didn’t excuse what the Police had done.

“I slipped and I was drowning,” Merlin continued, moving over until he sat on one of the benches, hands clasped together between his knees as he leant forward slightly. “I tried to calm down and feel for my magic like Aglain had taught me, but the magic I used wasn’t just mine.”

Merlin noticed Gaius look to Ygraine for confirmation and her responding nod.

“What do you mean it wasn’t just yours?” he asked a beat later, moving over to his bookshelf anyway and pausing with a hand hovering over one of the tomes.

“It was the magic from the Old World, way beneath the Wastelands. I could feel its power like nothing I’d ever felt before and it helped my own magic to push me out of the water.” It was strange to think that a few weeks ago, a sentence like that would have been madness to Merlin if he’d even thought it, let alone said it aloud to someone.

Gaius didn’t say anything, just turned to the row of books on his shelf, hand resting against them. Ygraine was still too, eyes downcast to the ground, though occasionally she’d look up at either Merlin or Gaius for a moment. Merlin waited nervously, refusing to take his eyes away from his hands, focused in the line of his thumb as it curled over his other hand.

“And you glowed?” Gaius asked, voice flat.

Merlin nodded slowly, “It happened before on Ealdor. I was trying to stop the Ocean.”

The air shifted and, if possible, both Gaius and Ygraine’s looks drew more shock and confusion, both looking to Merlin.

“I didn’t,” he added hastily, uncomfortable by their reaction. “I didn’t know what I was doing, but Will asked me if I could just stop the Ocean and I’d just discovered my magic, so I had to try.”

Merlin knew he sounded as if he was trying to defend himself against a serious allegation. While there was nothing wrong with what he’d done – that Merlin knew anyway – the reaction from Ygraine and Gaius frightened him a little. Had he finally shown that he could do something that even they were afraid of, or was there something more terrifying under his words? What did they know that he didn’t?

“There is a legend, written in the Chronicles of Beltane.” Gaius slid a book free of the shelf in front of him and walked slowly to the table where Merlin sat. “It speaks of the Old Magic, primarily its manifestation in the four base elements.”

Gaius flipped through the book until he found a page, pictures dominating the spread. It showed image representations of earth, air, fire and water, all draw in four quarters of a circle. Below that image was a drawing of a person, arms and legs stretched out and lines radiating from their body.

“They spoke of a great sorcerer, one who could tame the elements by a simple wish. He or she could create flames with the snap of their fingers, create a wind by lifting a hand, dent the earth with a footfall and still the ocean with a tilt of their head.” Gaius’ voice took on a fairy tale story quality, lost in the myth and wonder of the tale.

No doubt even the strongest sorcerers had thought this tale just that, not seeking to find any truth in their words further than a bedtime story and a smile for the child they were whispering it to.

“It was said that when perfect harmony with the elements was achieved, the magician glowed with an ethereal light, magic pouring off of them so strongly that it was visible even to non-magic folk.” Gaius slid the book further over to Merlin, tapping his finger at a small paragraph of scripted writing. It was, predictably, in the Old Language, but a simple scan on Merlin’s behalf showed the words clearly, proof of what Gaius had just told him.

“But what does it mean for me?” Merlin grated out, not wanting to hear about legends or amazing deeds of the past. He wanted to know what the glowing issue meant for him, what the repercussions were.

Gaius was about to reply when Ygraine spoke, jaw tightened and hands clenched tightly.

“You can’t let Nimueh near you,” she said hurriedly, shaking her head slightly. “If she gets you, she’ll chain your magic and then it’ll all be over.”

Ygraine had every reason to fear Uther’s court sorceress. She was the woman who had sold Ygraine out, whispered that the Queen knew the darkest, terrible secrets behind Camelot into the King’s ear. She was the reason Ygraine and Gaius had had to flee their homes under the cover of night, escaping to the Wastelands and living a life of poverty and scavenging. Merlin didn’t want anything to do with Nimueh, especially not when he was uncovering ridiculous amounts of power by the week.

Shushing Ygraine gently, Gaius turned to Merlin, lips thin.

“It means,” he began, “That you’re the only one who is powerful enough to take on all of Uther’s sorcerers and win, most likely with your eyes closed.”

Ygraine made a startled noise, somewhere between a squeak and a groan before she spoke. “You don’t know what Nimueh’s capable of Gaius!” Her voice was loud, panicked, and there was something in the way she held herself that made Merlin wonder whether there was more behind her relationship with Nimueh.

He didn’t have to wait to find out though, for Ygraine turned to him, ignoring Gaius’ suggestion to talk about it at another time.

“Nimueh isn’t afraid to do terrible things,” she began, seeking Merlin’s eyes out with her own, desperation shining through in her gaze. “After what she did-“

“My lady,” Gaius said quickly, voice harder than Merlin had ever heard it before. There was also the way in which he’d addressed Ygraine, most likely in the way he’d addressed her when she was queen and certainly not how they’d been for the years in the Wastelands.

“Gaius,” Ygraine said firmly, eyes full of fire. “I have to tell him.”

Merlin didn’t know how many secrets Camelot had been built upon, but each was more shattering than the last. Humanity was doomed if these were the kinds of people running a kingdom. If they resorted to slavery and chaining a creature against its will, what hope was there for the kindness they showed for their people? Those in the Sky City were ignorant, blind and foolish and it made Merlin want to give up his half-baked idea of saving them all, somehow.

Were they worth it? All those people who didn’t stop to think about what they were living on, not looking further than their noses at a government and monarchy they followed. Were they worth sacrificing everything Merlin had to offer salvation?

Merlin was beginning to think less and less of the plan, if not for the dragon. He needed to see the dragon and he would, only then could he decide which path he needed to take.

“Very well,” Merlin heard Gaius mutter, before his mentor moved away into the back of the tent, distancing himself from the conversation.

“Nimueh was my friend, one of my closest friends in fact. She took an oath as High Priestess when we were teenagers, but our friendship never dwindled because of that.” Ygraine’s voice was strong, as if she’d been holding all of this in and had needed to let it out. “She was a natural at magic, stronger than anyone we’d known for years.”

There was a wistful glint in her eyes as Ygraine remembered a lost friendship. Merlin waited, unsure if he should say or do anything.

“When I married Uther, she was happy for me. Even in matters of Court we got to spend time together so it wasn’t as if we saw each other less.” She smiled. “In fact, our relationship as Queen and Court Sorceress probably improved our friendship… or at least until Uther begged her to help us conceive a child.”

In all the stories Gaius had told, he’d never even hinted that Ygraine had so much thought of children, let alone conceived one. Had the babe died, Nimueh taking the child still in its afterbirth? Or had it died inside of Ygraine, a cursed product of a cursed kingdom?

“I became pregnant and everything was fine, good, until your father turned down position as Court Dragonlord.” Ygraine’s hand rested on her smooth stomach for a moment, lost in memories. Merlin waited, eyes averted. “He told Gaius and I about the truth and I foolishly assumed Nimueh was as clueless as I was.”

She closed her eyes, smiling bitterly this time. “She knew. In fact she was the one who suggested renewing the spells on the dragon every month to strengthen the magic being drawn from him. I’d just assumed I could trust her, that because she was my friend she’d agree with me…”

Ygraine tightened her jaw. “I wanted to tell everyone, ask our City what they thought of their noble Camelot. I wanted Nimueh and Uther to see what they’d done, to know the pain and suffering they were causing without telling anyone. All those people up there, living life happily without any cares, not knowing that their careless lives are powered by so many forced sacrifices.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin noticed Gaius shift uncomfortably where he stood.

“I didn’t know that Uther had asked Nimueh’s help to conceive our child. I didn’t know he had told her to use any magic possible to create his heir. If I had known…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“I didn’t know,” she repeated, looking away from Merlin with shame in her eyes. “I didn’t know that to create a life, a life must be taken. I didn’t know that my son was born of magic. I didn’t know that his birth meant that a child from the Pickings would be cremated, that I caused the death of someone else’s child.”

Anguish resided in Ygraine’s voice and there were tears in her eyes now. Merlin wanted to comfort her, somehow, but he knew any words he could offer would be useless and fall limp around her.

“I’m not saying I don’t love Arthur,” Ygraine whispered, a tear falling onto her cheek as she named her son. “And I would do anything, even now, to keep him out of harm’s way…”

“Which was why she had to leave,” Gaius interrupted darkly, arms crossed over his chest. “When we discovered the truth, we threatened to expose it to the people. Nimueh threatened to kill Arthur, just days old. She told us that we had to run or she would do it.”

Merlin’s eyes widened, thinking of all the hope and the dreams everyone back on Ealdor – even in the refugee camps – had placed in the Sky Cities. Where were the shining turrets of safety and honour in these stories?

“I don’t know what Uther told Arthur about me,” Ygraine said softly, brushing tears off of her cheeks with her fingers, sniffing slightly. “But you cannot let Nimueh near you. She will destroy you, no matter how powerful you are Merlin. She gets under your skin, claws into you until you can’t do anything but back down to her wishes.”

She was scared, Merlin realised. Scared of a woman who had been her closest friend and then betrayed her, consumed by greed and the power of magic.

The thing was, though, that Merlin could see how she had been so consumed by the magic. He kept being told that he was special, that his powers far exceeded anything anyone had ever managed in centuries, but Nimueh was the strongest witch Camelot had seen. How much better did that make her than the others, how much control had it given her?

Nimueh would have had to work the spells to bind the dragon’s magic and the stones together and then force them to power the City. And although she would have the command of sorcerers, ready to reinforce the spell, the original incantation had to be her magic alone or else it would never have worked. She had to have power and knowledge to be able to do that and it was easy to let such things corrupt you.

Merlin also knew what magic felt like, what it tasted like. Back on Ealdor, once he’d gotten over the shock of the stone, he’d craved it. At night he’d lie in bed and run a hand thoughtfully over the surface, sometimes wishing that he could have complete power over it and control where it sent him.

Unlike Merlin, Nimueh had no limitations. Power wasn’t even a limitation when she had her own sorcerers. If she so wished it, she could borrow their power, drawing on it through the Obsidian circle if it was a large amount. And, because she was the most powerful, the most feared, no one stood against her. Nimueh could do whatever she wished whenever she wished.

Perhaps Uther had some control over her to begin with, but Merlin knew that it would have been shredded the moment Uther had let her take away his queen, or perhaps even the moment the king had caved and come to her for an heir.

Kind-hearted and fair though she was, Ygraine wasn’t the woman Camelot needed. A cruel City such as that deserved Nimueh, a product of its own making. With Uther the only person with a slight shred of hope to control her, Nimueh was free to do as she willed in the City, to control the magic pouring in, as an example.

In his books, Merlin had always read about how magic could be a consuming force and how it could corrupt. He’d only known pure magic and, besides, his own strength was seemingly endless. It couldn’t consume Merlin because he never had to crave more; it was simply there. But, with this knowledge, now-common facts about Camelot slot into place, facts that he’d need to discuss later with Gaius.

By taking the power of life and death in her hands, Nimueh had altered the balance of the Old Religion. When Ygraine’s son had been born, another son’s life had been taken, shattering the fragile connection Camelot had held with the earth magic. There was only so much damage that connection could have withstood, through the damage the Pickings caused and then the enslavement of the Great Dragon, but Nimueh altering something she should never have even considered touching had been the final straw.

That connection hadn’t just affected Camelot though, it couldn’t have. A break in such a connection would have had terrible effect, drastic effects, on the rest of the world. Or, in other words, in a common tongue, the final push of the Flood, the one that had wreaked the most havoc when everyone assumed the worst to be over.

By breaking that connection, Nimueh had damaged the balance. Waters had risen faster, hurtling towards whatever land it could cover, and the people below had suffered, yet again. But there were also the decaying Towers, the non-refutable evidence that Camelot was crumbling and it was all Nimueh’s fault.

“I don’t have a choice,” Merlin heard himself say, before he’d thought the words out fully. “It doesn’t matter about Nimueh; I still have to go to Camelot.”

Gaius was silent, still away from them, but Ygraine shook her head, trying to plead with Merlin, to make him promise not to go to Camelot.

“You can’t! If she finds out your strength then she’ll hurt you.” She clutched at Merlin’s hand, desperate and almost-crazed. “You don’t understand her, she’ll tear you apart.”

Merlin placed his free hand over Ygraine’s, stilling her movements as he spoke.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “I survived the journey from Ealdor. I don’t know how I did it, but there’s a chance my mother and my best friend are still alive. I need the dragon to tell me where they are; I can’t just abandon them.”

“I can help you there,” Gaius spoke again and Merlin’s head turned sharply. “On why you survived and no one else did.”

Beginning to shake his head, not wanting to hear what the physician had to say, Merlin did listen as Gaius spoke again, though the words were hard to stomach.

“I’m sorry. There is a chance that they’re alive, but you have to be realistic Merlin. You survived because of your connection to the Old Magic. You said that you tried to stop the Ocean back on Ealdor and I’m willing to bet that you almost did when you glowed.”

Merlin wanted to shake his head and dismiss Gaius’ words, but he remembered the rush of magic, the tingling of power and the moonbeams dancing on the surface of the waves around him. They’d never learnt to swim – none of the Islanders that was – but when he’d been waist-deep in the Ocean, Merlin had felt peaceful and serene, two words that he’d never have had considered in relation to the Ocean before.

“You were washed up on the shores of Camelot because the Ocean wanted you here. The Old Magic needs you, Merlin, no matter what you might want to think.” Gaius sighed before he spoke heavily, not wanting to say the words, Merlin knew. “And while your connection to your family is strong, I don’t think it was strong enough to save them too.”

Suddenly, Merlin didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t need to know about Nimueh, or the self-induced madness Ygraine slipped into with desperation. He didn’t want to hear Gaius’ reasonable truths or the possibility that the Old Magic had selected him of all people, saved him when it had let so many people die…

So Merlin left, walking from the tent swiftly without another word. Thankfully both Gaius and Ygraine let him go, silent back in the tent. The few druids Merlin met on his way out of the camp eyed him suspiciously, curious as to how he’d become so dirty, but they backed away when he glared at them, scuttling back to their half-lives hidden under the shadows of a corrupt City.

He marched in the opposite direction to that he’d taken with Ygraine, heading away from the refugee camp, away from the inner Fence and support Tower. He walked away from the druids without second thought, unsure where exactly he was headed to, but knowing that he needed to clear his head.

It was incomprehensible to think. Before, he’d hoped with every fibre of his being that his mother and Will were still alive somehow, had survived against all odds. After all, Merlin had survived, so why shouldn’t they have?

And though Gaius had mentioned about the will of his magic perhaps saving them too, what did the Old Religion want with Hunith or Will? Merlin was the one with the ability to use its magic, the one with magic of his own and the one ruined by a prophecy. Will and Hunith were useless in the eyes of the Old Religion and so it didn’t need to save them. Why cling onto hope that they were still out there when it was useless?

Merlin walked, clothes itching against his skin as the bog-mud began to crust over. He smelt awful and knew he looked hideous, but so what? No one was there to see him and Merlin certainly didn’t want to go back, at least not yet.

There was a scrubby patch of woodland set amongst an outcrop of rocks an hour and a bit’s walk from the druid camp and it was here that Merlin directed his attention towards. The trees, though a little stumpy, still easily towered above Merlin, thick trunked and squat leafed.

He sat under the darkness of the cluster of trees for a long time, enough for darkness of the night outside to eclipse any light that filtered into the Wasteland. Merlin didn’t make any effort to move though, slumped against the trees and staring blankly out across the land, wondering how this had become his life.

There was a small commotion off to Merlin’s left and he tensed, eyes widening in hopes of seeing what was out there. Gaius had never mentioned anything that lived in the Wasteland aside from the druids, Urchins and the Police, but there was every possibility that one of the gunmen had sauntered out, hunting the Wild Children for a spot of fun.

“Hello Emrys,” a voice said instead, a scruffy child peering around the trees. Behind Mordred were a few other children, watching Merlin with wide and curious eyes.

“I didn’t know you could talk,” Merlin said, slightly miserably. He thought back to how he’d prattled on to Mordred when they’d first met and of how much an idiot he must look to the younger boy.

“I only talk to some people,” the boy acknowledged, padding over with bare, dirtied feet until he sat opposite Merlin. “And only when we’re alone.”

Merlin looked over at the children who were starting to settle down, curling up against each other with little smiles.

“Alone?” he repeated, familiar and comforting with Mordred, even though he had called him Emrys.

Mordred nodded, eyes shining in the dim light. “Too much talking leads you nowhere.”

There was an intelligence in Mordred’s eyes that, quite frankly, scared Merlin a little. He couldn’t be older than thirteen years, but his eyes looked so much older. Is that what listening had got him? Wisdom far beyond his years and a secret intelligence?

“They assume I don’t talk because I can’t, or that there’s a problem with me.” Mordred looked away, the whites of his eyes glinting slightly through the movement. He picked up a handful of small stones, throwing them down carelessly, gestures a child would make no matter how wise they seemed.

“And that because I don’t talk, I don’t make my own choices,” Mordred continued, darting a glance up to Merlin. “But I do,” he said earnestly. “I do.”

They were in similar situations, with Merlin backed by the druids and a prophecy and Mordred backed by Alvarr. They’d both lost their families, lost almost everything, and both been forced into a situation where they were told they had to do things, had to save everyone else simply because they, in Merlin’s case, had power or, in Mordred’s case, had the potential for power. Sitting here, Merlin couldn’t see any of the great warrior Alvarr had foreseen, instead all he saw was a little boy, lost and alone, running from the one place that he had been able to call home because of Alvarr and the man’s ideas.

He was the same as Merlin. Both of them were scared, far from home and on the edge of a great destiny. Mordred had run too, the pair fleeing from an uncertain future that they had to guide.

“I understand,” Merlin whispered, world-weary and tired. “Were you born here?” he asked Mordred a moment later, reaching out in the only way he knew how to.

“I think so,” Mordred replied, hunching his shoulders. “I don’t know though. I remember the refugee camp, then my family being split up by the Pickings.” His eyes were bright again as he paused, shifting forwards through the space between them. “They took my father and wanted to take me too, but I ran away.”

“I know a story about a boy who ran away,” Merlin said softly, thinking of the cold winter nights when he would snuggle beside his mother and Will, laughing at the fire-side stories they made up.

“Oh?” Mordred said, scuttling ever more closer, until he was tucked against Merlin’s side, both resting against the same, thick tree.

“Yeah,” Merlin replied. It was easy to wrap an arm around the child, draw him closer despite their dirtied clothes and bog-ridden libs. “I’ll tell you the story now if you want.”

So he did. He told Mordred of the boy who’d run from his home, searching to capture the stars. He told Mordred of the boy who’s never stopped running, searching for a way to tame the whole world, to slow it right down until everything was calm and safe, that he’d won against all evils and protected everyone.

To his words, Merlin used his power, his gift and talent, to bend the air, sending pinpricks of fire around them, sparkling like the stars would have if they’d been able to see the night sky.

“I’ve never seen the stars,” Mordred muttered sleepily and with a slight sigh.

Merlin wondered if anyone in the refugee camp remembered the stars, after all they couldn’t see the night sky from outside the Fence. Inside was blocked by the colossal structure of the support-tower and the shelter that the fence provided, reaching to block the sky above, and outside, by the sea and in the harsh weather, Camelot itself polluted the skies, blocking first with its Towers and then with the waste from its electrical haven.

“You will,” Merlin whispered back. “One day.”

“And the boy?” Mordred asked, his head drooping. “Did he bring back a star?”

Merlin was silent, waiting for a long stretch of time. Mordred was asleep by the time he answered, curled up on Merlin’s lap.

“He’s still looking,” he said, slumping his head back against the tree with a heavy sigh. There was so much more to do now than simply seeing the dragon, Mordred had shown him that.

Tomorrow Merlin would go back to the druid camp and face whatever future he had to. Now, though, he’d sleep surrounded by Wild Children in an impossible Wasteland forest, dreaming of a life he’d run away from to chase the impossible, just like the boy of his story.

**.**

When Merlin woke, back stiff and neck aching, all of the children save for Mordred were gone. Daylight filtered into the Wastelands, casting the area in its usual slightly-green light.

“I brought you food,” Mordred said, holding out a bulb-shaped plant, the bottom of it cut open a little to reveal an odd-smelling liquid. “If you drink it, it should keep the hunger out until we get back.”

Merlin took the flower, thanking Mordred and drinking the juice. It wasn’t a terrible taste, tasted more like dirt than anything Merlin could name, but it did stave off the hunger, settling heavily in his stomach.

Although he was somewhat surprised that Mordred had chosen to return with him, Merlin was glad of the company. He’d walked further than he’d originally thought the night before and it took them two hours to negotiate back safely, keeping far away from bog pits and the deep pools of water.

There were still a few landmarks around, weather cockerels and pointed spires being the most noticeable amongst ruins of buildings, and Merlin thought about the hidden beauty of the Wastelands.

It was easy to dismiss the place, with its oozing mud and perilous traps of water and slime, but it was important to remember that this had been a country once, an Island of its own. Land had been pushed up when they’d built the Tower and the floods had swarmed around (Merlin tried not to think of the land having been pushed up as backlash from the origin point of the Flood), changing the lands and burying the ghosts of its past.

How many histories were lost due to the floods? Could the people who had lived centuries ago even recognise their birth places, covered in water and sunken deep, deep down?

Merlin wondered where Mordred had come from. He could have been born on an Island far out in the Ocean for all they knew, or he could have come from the camps. They’d never know, at least if they didn’t find Mordred’s father that was.

Before now, Merlin had known about the people in the Tower and the Pickings, but he’d never fully realised what it meant. Ripped away from their families, these people were tortured by having their magic ripped from them. While he couldn’t know for sure whether it hurt or not, these people had a right to life as much as any other. What Nimueh and the others were doing was inexcusable and Merlin had to find a way to stop her.

He’d never realised it before though. Before, back when Mordred couldn’t talk, they’d been people, but not really individuals that Merlin had to save. But Mordred had a father, trapped under the weight of a binding spell, and so many other people had lost family members. They weren’t just people waiting to be saved now, they had lives and loves waiting for them, things that had been ripped away without choice. They weren’t a mass of people anymore, but individuals, each with stories to tell and imaginations to dream with.

Despite whatever misgivings Merlin had felt before, he had to try and help. Nimueh had contorted the whole world just for a taste of power and that power had selected Merlin to right her wrongs. That was the reason for his magic, to put back whatever Nimueh had taken, and he didn’t need a dragon to tell him that.

No one was around when they approached the druid camp. It was eerily silent and Merlin’s heart leapt in his throat, until Mordred took his hand and led him to the fire pit, where most of the druids had congregated. They seemed to be waiting, and Merlin realised belatedly that it was them they had gathered for.

“Mordred,” Alvarr said, the name escaping him in a breath. “Where have you been?”

Mordred clutched Merlin’s hand tighter, refusing to leave his side. Merlin couldn’t blame the boy; Alvarr just wanted to use him for his own end, ignoring Mordred’s wishes to stay out of his plans.

“Emrys,” Aglain greeted warmly. “We were wondering when you’d be back.”

They all acted as though Merlin had done little else than take a morning stroll, not leave the camp with every intention never to come back. When Merlin spotted Gaius at the back of the group, though, he realised that the druids would have no idea about their quarrel, that they would simply assume that he had been out for a walk.

Merlin wondered if he’d ever be able to live a life outside of secrecy and lies anymore.

“Here I am,” he said awkwardly, gripping Mordred’s hand a little tighter.

“Alvarr called us together,” Aglain said, shooting a glance towards where the man in question stood, his face dark as he watched Mordred and Merlin. “He said there was something important he wanted to discuss.”

There was something like distain in Aglain’s voice, as though he cared very little for whatever Alvarr might want to discuss. The look was mirrored on most of the other druids’ faces too, aside from the clump of supporters Alvarr had behind him.

Merlin was shown to the circle, offered a place to sit. Mordred sat next to him on a ratty old sofa, away from where Gaius and Ygraine stood. Others took their own spaces, filling out the circle around the fire pit and turning with slight disinterest to Alvarr, who had taken his place standing at the front of the area.

“I wanted to talk to you about how we can defeat the people in the Sky City,” he began, voice firm and full of charisma. Merlin felt Mordred tense beside him and he gripped the boy’s hand, giving a slight shake of his head. He wasn’t about to let Alvarr use him in this way, not when Mordred had chosen to talk to him, to reach out.

“We have the chance to strike at our enemies,” Alvarr was saying, spreading his hands wide in passion. He believed in his cause, at least, Merlin supposed, though that wasn’t necessarily a good thing, especially when the cause would lead to obvious bloodshed.

“We need to find a Seeing Stone,” he continued, sparing a glance to his followers, who nodded in return, smiling widely. “When we obtain one, we can harness its power and defeat those who seek to destroy us.”

His statement drew mutterings from the druids around them, a few shaking their head and rolling their eyes while one or two looked genuinely interested in what he had to say.

“We need to get into Camelot,” Alvarr continued, drawing shocked gasps from the druids around him. A few, noticeably mothers with children, drew others back a little, as if trying to distance themselves away from Alvarr in case he wanted to snatch them up and send them to Camelot.

“It’s suicide!” someone called out angrily. Alvarr turned to the voice, shaking his head.

“No, it’s not,” he said brightly, so charismatically. “We get ourselves an Obsidian and we’ve won. We can destroy the Tower and bring prosperity back to where it belongs; the people.”

His statement met a few more murmurs of agreement and Mordred’s hand in Merlin’s clutched tighter, the boy already knowing what Alvarr would say soon.

“When we harness it to Mordred’s power, we’ll be unstoppable!” Alvarr turned to Mordred, nodding to him with a smile, expecting the boy to go bounding up, grin on his face and power handed over solely for Alvarr’s cause.

No one said anything and Merlin could feel the ripple of confidence ooze from Alvarr and around the group. He was so sure of himself, so sure of his cause that he was swaying the druids without saying much. In fact, he’d hardly said much at all, other than a plan that would lead to sure death and mentions of using Mordred as a means to an end.

Merlin looked through the group and noticed that more than one pair of eyes lay on him. Before, when Merlin had been introduced into the druids, Gaius and Aglain had stood opposed to Alvarr, willing to speak out. Now, though, Alvarr’s opinions were nothing compared to their Emrys’ and comprehension dawned. It was Merlin’s turn to speak out and if he didn’t, then he risked losing the druids under Alvarr’s charisma and sway.

He stood shakily, like one of the few new born livestock they’d kept on Ealdor. Alvarr’s attention snapped to him instantly, imposing in his clean clothes where Merlin must have looked a mess. Mordred’s hand slipped from his, falling heavily back onto the sofa.

He thought back to Mordred’s fears and knew that he couldn’t fail him. Alvarr couldn’t use Mordred, or anyone else for that matter, just to achieve his whim. He didn’t understand what was at stake either, simply wanting to destroy Camelot rather than save the people there, which was what Merlin wanted to achieve.

“You want to destroy Camelot?” he asked in a flat voice, drawing a silence over the druids. Even when Alvarr had been speaking, a few had still been talking amongst themselves, but now that Merlin was talking, everyone was listening.

Alvarr was unimpressed, turning to Merlin with an amused look on his face.

“They’ve closed their gates, tried to stamp us down and Pick on us. They’d happily destroy every single one of us if they could, why should we be any different?” His voice was confident, sure of his ideas and it made Merlin somewhat horrified.

“Because it’s wrong,” Merlin replied. “Because you’d just be as bad as them.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes, trying to understand why Alvarr wanted to destroy Camelot, why the man thought it was a good idea to simply kill rather than think of another solution.

“We have the capacity to change how we live,” Alvarr said, taking a step towards Merlin. “We have the power to make a difference and if those who support tyranny fall, so what?”

Shaking his head, Merlin spared a glance around the druids. A few more were considering Alvarr’s words thoughtfully, as if what he was saying actually made sense.

“So you’re willing to sacrifice a child and so many other lives just to get what you want?” Merlin felt his lip curl in disgust.

“It’s not what I want,” Alvarr spat, rounding on Merlin now. He stepped closer, encroaching on Merlin’s space and Merlin let him.

He hadn’t fought properly for months now and even then the fights he’s had with Will had been more playful than anything. But this was for a cause, this was between a man who wanted to slaughter thousands and Merlin himself.

“It’s what we all want,” finished Alvarr, cocking his head to the side slightly, waiting to hear Merlin’s reply.

He didn’t know what to say. Merlin didn’t know how to convince this man that what he wanted was wrong, simply because he was so sure of himself, so self-confident that his idea was the right one.

“Have you even considered the possibility that Mordred doesn’t want to help you?” Merlin asked hurriedly, looking away from Alvarr. As his eyes left the man before him, Merlin couldn’t help but notice the slight triumph in his smirk, how he’d simply assumed he’d already won.

“Mordred will do what’s expected of him because he knows it’s for the best.” Merlin gritted his jaw as Alvarr continued. “There are no other options and while Gaius says you can use the stones, I’d rather have my magic sucked from my body than trust the task to you.”

Merlin could feel Mordred behind him, shrinking away from Alvarr. He didn’t blame the child; Alvarr was clearly ready to use Mordred any way he could, willing or otherwise, and nothing would be able to stop him if Merlin should fail.

“You don’t have to trust me,” Merlin said sourly, “But using Mordred to achieve mass murder is not how you are going to accomplish anything.” He paused, turning his attention to the other part of what Alvarr had said.

“And, how exactly, were you planning to get into the Tower to find an Obsidian Stone in the first place? They’re not going to be easy to find, no matter what you try.” Merlin shook his head, “You’re just passing out a death sentence with this plan.”

A few titters rose in the camp and Merlin could hear them muttering his name, but he ignored them, staring down Alvarr as the man challenged him, raising his chin and squaring his gaze. Whereas before Merlin might have been content to roll over, let Alvarr take his place and do whatever he liked because he was strong and so sure of what needed to be done, Merlin couldn’t let Mordred down. He couldn’t let Gaius and Ygraine down either, or Aglain and the other druids. He couldn’t let the people having their magic enslaved inside of the Tower down and he couldn’t leave the dragon that had reached out to him.

There was a reason for his magic, a reason why he had survived. There was a reason why the Ocean had split him from his mother and Will and that was so he could come here and do what needed to be done. Merlin was the one who had to save them; he was the one the Old Magic had chosen, not Alvarr, not Mordred, but Merlin.

“And what are you planning to do?” Alvarr shot back, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting.

For a moment, Merlin had no idea what he was going to say. He didn’t have a plan, all he had was training, and what good would that be to a man like Alvarr? Then he remembered the night before, Ygraine telling him about Nimueh and what she’d been forced into. He remembered the book Gaius had showed him and of the drawing, of how the magic had selected him, guided him and brought him here when the rest of the world was drowning.

“I don’t know,” Merlin said honestly, drawing a few gasps from the druids. “But I know that whatever I do, no one is going to be sacrificed for it. I’m not going to let anyone die as a means to an end. Whatever I do, I’ll give you all a better life without the fear that you will die trying to reach it.”

While some of the druids seemed placated with his words, a few turned away, looking to Alvarr. Merlin knew that Alvarr had noticed this too, judging by slight-raised eyebrows and almost-triumphant look on his face.

“You don’t have a plan and yet you expect everyone to just pander to your whims?” Alvarr rolled his eyes and turned away from Merlin, back to the druids. “And you’re all so convinced he’s going to save you?”

A few more druids tittered unexpectedly and Merlin felt his throat tighten, his mouth dry. He had lost any control he’d held through the druids the moment Alvarr had challenged him, without a single hope of regaining it.

Merlin simply didn’t know what to do.

“Mordred,” Alvarr barked, nodding to a few druids off to the side, clear supporters of his cause. “Come on,” he said, the druids he’d motioned to come forward stepping towards Merlin and Mordred.

It was obvious they were going to grab Mordred, but Merlin shook his head, voice firm when he spoke.

“You don’t touch him, do you understand?” Alvarr simply looked up in return, smiling as though Merlin was a child he’d rather be rid of.

“I don’t think our great Emrys understands that we need Mordred.” Merlin risked a look around as Alvarr paused and saw uncertain faces, druids unsure of what Alvarr was planning. “Mordred is smart, he understands what needs to be done.”

Shaking his head, Merlin took a step back, sending a desperate look towards where Gaius and Ygraine stood. They had to help him, somehow, even though Merlin had no idea how he could get out of this situation anymore.

“No,” he said, reaching for Mordred to place him behind him, to protect him in any way he could. “He’s just a child, you can’t use him like that.”

If things were simple, maybe Merlin would have sat back and let Alvarr have his way. If it were simple, then there wouldn’t be thousands of people at the base of the Tower and they could all think that all citizens of the Sky Cities were evil. If everything was simple, Merlin could maybe even have agreed with Alvarr, but it wasn’t simple and he knew the truth.

Maybe if Ygraine and Gaius hadn’t told him the secrets of the New World than, yes, Merlin could have empathised with Alvarr’s goals, but it wasn’t that easy. Merlin had lost people, too many people, and that made him naturally against any plan that involved killing, especially when the death toll was likely to be so high.

Alvarr thought that he could raise a whole army using the stones. While some people may answer the call – there wasn’t exactly a lack of people through the camps outside or those willing to join from the druid camp – it wasn’t an army. They had no weapons (unless you counted Alvarr’s insistence that Mordred and his magic would be enough) and no training, up against honed sorcerers from Camelot. That didn’t even cover their first barrier in the police, and while Merlin didn’t know how long they’d be able to last, he doubted they would even get past the inner fence.

“Come on Mordred,” Alvarr said sternly and Merlin regarded the two approaching druids warily, knowing they would make a move to snatch Mordred any moment. “You’re so much better than them,” Alvarr added with a sneer, shifting his gaze over to Merlin for a second.

That second was long enough for Mordred to wrench his hand from Merlin’s grip and push backwards, spinning around as he tore a path through the gathered druids. Merlin took a moment to realise what was happening before he took off after Mordred, calling his name and pushing against Alvarr’s men who had also taken chase.

“MERLIN!” a voice shouted and Merlin turned, chest heaving as Gaius waved his arm furiously, beckoning him over. Merlin went without hesitation, pushing past the animated crowd of druids, ignoring their stares and their whispers.

“What are you doing?” Gaius rushed out, eyes wide. “You can’t go after him, and anyway he’ll easily outrun Alvarr’s men. Mordred’s lived with the Urchins, he knows the best hiding places and how to cross the Wastelands without injury.”

Merlin shook his head, knowing what he had to do. He had promised Mordred that he’d protect him, but so far he’d failed, causing the boy to run away rather than seek help.

“I can’t just leave him,” Merlin said urgently, willing Gaius to understand. “I’m not…” he took in a deep breath, knowing the next words would hurt Gaius, but he needed them to. He had to go after Mordred now, but he could apologise to Gaius when he came back.

“I’m not like you, I can’t just abandon the people who need me,” he rushed out, turning to stare at Gaius defiantly, willing the old man to challenge him.

Gaius looked taken aback, before Ygraine placed a hand on his shoulder and he sighed, looking away from Merlin. That was all Merlin needed before he had taken out of the fire-circle completely, passing through rows of tents, trying to track Mordred.

That was the easy part, as a few of Alvarr’s supporters had followed with ease and they were taller, easier to see. Merlin broke free of the druid camp and spotted them at once, Mordred with a large space between him and Alvarr’s men. With a smaller frame and less weight – plus insider knowledge on the lay of the land – Mordred was able to navigate faster through the Wastelands, but his pursuers weren’t about to give up easily.

As he followed, Merlin knew he looked ridiculous. He was still caked in dry mud from the day before, hair crusted to his head and skin leathery from the water he’d sunk into, but that made it easier when he fell this time, again and again as he slipped across the bog land. The route he’d took was treacherous, but it looked as though he could get ahead slightly of Alvarr’s men, cut them off and stop them from reaching Mordred.

Merlin hadn’t noticed how close they were to the lone channel that ran through the Wastelands until he heard the hum of a police boat. Alvarr’s men had noticed it too and had fallen back slightly, moving back skittishly, afraid with good reason. If the police caught them here, they’d be Picked or killed, no exceptions.

Somehow, Mordred had managed to run right to the edge of the channel and it was only now, that he was faced with a barrier in which he had no other choice but to stop at, that he snapped out of whatever instinct he’d been possessed by and saw the boat. It wasn’t particularly close, but Merlin knew that it had seen Mordred and gasped, wanting to shout out Mordred’s name, though he knew it was far too late.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Merlin saw someone on the boat point in Mordred’s direction, and they held something out at arm’s length, cocked towards the boy. It wasn’t a gun, Merlin realised after a beat, but whatever it had done, it pleased the police for they scrambled together, steering the boat closer to Mordred’s side, jumping the bank as soon as they could.

For all his power, all his prophesised greatness and promises he’d made to Mordred, Merlin froze. He was half-crouching, having slipped again just before he’d been aware of the boat, and he watched everything as though it was happening in slow motion.

One of the police held out a gun, firing it twice in succession towards Mordred. The boy crumpled, his body jerking as it hit the mud. He wasn’t dead, Merlin could still see him try to move, but his body seemed paralysed.

This was how they worked in the Wastelands. If you were of use to them – the people in their Sky Cities and electrical havens – then they’d trap you and take you. If you weren’t, you were killed, just one less vermin for them to keep at bay.

Merlin ducked down, pressing his belly to the ground, as Alvarr’s men ran near him. Gunfire opened around him, drumming into his ears and Merlin suddenly didn’t care that his mouth was full of marsh-mud, or that his foot was half-submerged into a puddle. Everything had suddenly become a matter of life or death and Merlin was unsure how he’d be able to get out of this one alive.

One of the bullets hit its target and the bulkier of Alvarr’s men went down, gasping as his life left him. He wasn’t particularly close to Merlin, but he could still see the man’s lifeless eyes as his last breath left him, staring out for all of eternity.

The other man looked at his companion, pale-faced and wide eyed, but didn’t have the sense to duck when another volley of gun shots sounded out. The bullets went everywhere, clipping the ground near to Merlin, and one bit into the side of his arm, grazing the skin thickly as it shot past.

This was their hunting ground, their playing place. The police were in complete control here, allowing the druids to flourish in what they assumed was peace, when really the police were just waiting for the day that a druid would step out and into their gun’s path. It was fun for them, a sport even, and Merlin suddenly wanted nothing more than to side with Alvarr and tear this Camelot and its forces apart.

His magic, though, was lost to him. Merlin couldn’t feel the familiar bubble in his chest and he rolled onto his good shoulder, breath coming in more shallow pants as he ran through Aglain’s exercises, trying to dig deeply for the magic.

It still didn’t come. He didn’t know how long he lay there trying, to the low buzz of the police boat and the slopping sounds of people running through mud, but no magic came, no matter how hard Merlin tried.

Something gripped his shoulder and Merlin whipped around, teeth bared as he tried to scoot back, out of the policeman’s grip. Relief unlike any he’d ever known flooded his body as he saw Ygraine crouching over him with shaky hands and a gaunt look on her face.

“Where are you hurt?” she asked, smoothing her hands over his body and drawing them back to look at every few moments, checking for blood.

“Shoulder,” Merlin gasped out, pushing up a little so that she could look at the injury. “But it doesn’t matter; they’ve got Mordred.”

For a moment, Ygraine looked as though she might do something, might stick her neck out and tackle the police herself. The moment passed, though, as Merlin knew it would, and she shook her head, hands clamping down on Merlin’s bad shoulder, as if she had already known what he would do.

“Merlin, no,” she said, shaking her head violently. Strands of hair fell around her face, mud-caked and limp, but she ignored them, focusing solely on Merlin.

“They’ll take you,” she said, whispering ferociously, trying to convince Merlin that his idea was the worst possible, that he couldn’t do it. She was scared, even more so than she’d been when talking about Nimueh, but Merlin couldn’t listen, didn’t have time, not when they were taking Mordred.

“No please, I-“ Merlin cut himself off as he shot a glance over to the police and froze. He began shaking his head, jaw slackening.

“No,” he repeated, “No, Gaius!”

Ygraine’s grip on him slackened slightly, but not enough for Merlin to escape as she too followed Merlin’s trail of vision, noting that Gaius had joined them, only to look over Alvarr’s men. The police had seen him though, tested him and weren’t shooting.

Which only meant one thing; Gaius was useful to them.

“No,” Ygraine said, parroting Merlin’s earlier words. She shook her head and Merlin hoped she’d relax her grip enough, but she didn’t. If anything, she gripped tighter, forcing Merlin down on the ground as the police trapped Gaius, hauling his lifeless body towards their boat.

The roar of engines sounded again and Merlin struggled against Ygraine weakly, knowing that his efforts would be futile. His magic was gone, hidden away from him for some reason, and Merlin didn’t know what to do.

They were gone. Gaius and Mordred had been taken for the Pickings, sold to a life of slavery in the pit of the Tower and it was all Merlin’s fault. If he’d shown Mordred his promise wasn’t one of empty words, then he wouldn’t have run off. If he’d stood up to Alvarr when he’d had the chance, Mordred wouldn’t have doubted him.

And even though he didn’t regret it, Gaius had come because of Merlin. If Merlin hadn’t been so reckless in running after Mordred, Gaius wouldn’t have been Picked too.

Ygraine slumped on the ground, sinking into the mud a little. What you could see of her face was ashen grey, the rest covered in smears of mud. Her eyes were closed and Merlin fought down the bile rising in his throat.

He had done this.

He was supposed to save them all, not cause two of his friends to be taken. Was this what magic had turned him into? Someone who would get you killed by association? Merlin had lost so many people, could it be that it was actually him that was the problem?

“Merlin,” Ygraine whispered, her voice pathetic. “You have to…” she trailed off in a slight sob.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt. Gaius had been her last link to her old life, the last person who would ever understand everything she’d been through. Yes, Merlin knew, but that wasn’t enough. He’d never really be able to understand.

“It starts,” she said a moment later, pushing up until she sat, slightly resting against Merlin. “It starts now, no matter what I wished for you.”

It took a while for Merlin to understand what Ygraine was saying, thanks largely to the dull thud of pain in his arm, but when he did, he looked sharply at her, unsure that they were both on the same wavelength.

“But-“ he began, only to have Ygraine cut him off.

“I never wanted this for you,” she spoke softly, bringing a hand up to cradle Merlin’s cheek. “But you need to save them.” Her grip slackened and she pushed herself up onto her knees, facing him now and taking his face fully in her hands. She kissed his forehead gently before pulling him to her chest and holding him.

Merlin had almost forgotten what it was like to be held. The last time had to be back on Ealdor, from his mother, so long ago now. He hadn’t been starved of affection, or at least not that he’d realised, but there was something in the way that Ygraine held him, clutching at him desperately, that made Merlin grip back, pressing against her how he would have his mother and tucking his head against her neck. They were both missing a son and a mother respectively and while they’d never compare to family, they were friends and they loved each other all the same.

“I don’t believe in any prophesies, but I’ve seen what you’re willing to do…” she smiled, eyes crinkling. “You can save them. You have a greater heart than any I’ve ever seen and you make me feel hope.”

To anyone else, that would simply have been a throw-away statement, but Merlin knew that Ygraine hadn’t lived with hope ever since she’d discovered the truth. For her to say that now meant so much to Merlin, but what could he do?

“My magic,” he began, slightly shaky from the wound. “It won’t work.”

Ygraine shook her head. “It wanted you alive,” she whispered, looking down with furrowed brows. “Your magic will protect you first and foremost, I remember Nimueh telling me that.”

They were silent, Merlin turning to follow the channel’s path, up to the inner fence.

“I’ll have to be Picked,” he said softly, allowing Ygraine to see his fear. He’d seen so much of hers that it only made sense, and despite everything, Merlin knew he could trust her.

She nodded, pulling back from him with a sad look in her eyes. “The stone will keep you safe,” she said, moving a hand down and into Merlin’s pocket, pulling the clean stone out.

“Merlin,” she whispered, only just audible. “If you… get the chance…” she paused, shaking her head a little.

“Never mind,” she continued, “It’s just me being silly.”

Merlin shook his head. Nothing in this Wasteland was silly anymore and he needed to know, now more than ever.

“Please,” he said, searching Ygraine’s eyes for her wish.

“If you see the crest of a golden dragon,” she began, a soft smile on her lips, “And there’s a man of your age… would you just see how he is?”

She meant her son, Merlin realised.

Ygraine had never once mentioned that her son had lived after her banishment and it sent a small spark of surprise through Merlin. He’d simply assumed that she’d lost her son, that she couldn’t have abandoned the baby even when his life had caused another’s death.

“Please,” she whispered, not meeting Merlin’s eyes anymore. “Just to see if he… he’s alright.”

She really loved her son, Merlin realised. Even though she couldn’t have held the boy more than once in her life and hadn’t been able to see him grow at all, she still loved him, exactly how Merlin would always love his mother even if he’d never see her again. So he nodded and pressed a kiss to Ygraine cheek, rising from the ground and clutching his arm where it was bleeding slightly.

“Tell the druids I’m coming back,” he said with a nod, smiling half-heartedly at Ygraine despite the bubbling fear in his gut. “I’m coming back and letting you all into Camelot.”

And then that was it. Merlin was walking away, one arm swaying uselessly at his side while he tried not to look back. He had to focus on Gaius and Mordred, had to get them back and that was all. He couldn’t think about Ygraine, the druids and the place that had become his home these past few months. He couldn’t think about the spells he hadn’t mastered yet or the power he didn’t understand because now was his chance to do something.

The walk was gruelling, the fixed point of his destination far in the distance yet still visible. Merlin’s arm began to throb with pain, each step drawing a deeper wave, something Merlin hadn’t thought possible. He wondered if he’d be able to heal it somehow before remembering that he’d never flicked to the healing spell section of his book, relying on Gaius and his talents if he’d needed any form of patching up.

Look where that had gotten him. Alone trudging through the Wastelands, heading to almost certain death and without a small comfort to stop the pain in his arm where one of the police bastards had shot him earlier.

Though he wasn’t quite sure how – aside from that he’d evidently walked all the way – Merlin made it to the lock gate, or at least the boarders of it. He stood back, raising his arms as he noticed a few of the patrolling policemen cocking their guns.

“Wait!” he shouted, heart hammering in his throat. “Test me!”

That was what they did, after all. They tested people before they killed them, trying to see if they were useful or not. Merlin needed them to find just a tiny spark of magic, the magic that was hiding somewhere deep inside, trying to protect him.

He didn’t need a lot this time, just enough that would get him into the Tower and that was it.

A door at the base of the fence opened and a uniformed man ran out, three others flanking him. He waved the testing device in Merlin’s direction, barking out orders all the while.

Merlin sucked in a breath, fear rising as the police circled him. He willed any magic down, even though he couldn’t feel it. There was something poking at him, testing and searching him, so he froze and waited, hoping to any gods that might still exist that they only found a small trace.

He couldn’t let these people know his full potential. He doubted they’d even met a true sorcerer, simply ripping magic from latent humans like Mordred and his family, but if they knew what he was capable of then Merlin didn’t stand a chance and he’d be hauled before Nimueh and the king, his mission failed before it had begun.

“Pick him!” the man in charge shouted suddenly, and Merlin offered no resistance as the other three men moved, one on each side to restrain him. Their leader nodded, satisfied, before ordering them through the small door and through to the other side of the inner fence.

Merlin never made it through the fence though as a jolt of something cold and hot at the same time swept through his whole body, coursing through him as if it was stripping his magic down and away. His knees hit the ground and his senses blurred, eyesight jumbling faces and ears hardly catching any sounds, his whole body shuddering from the aftershock of whatever the police had fired at him.

He couldn’t even feel fear, but that didn’t matter much anymore, for Merlin’s eyes clouded in darkness and he was gone, Picked along with everyone else who had magic and strayed across the path of the New World.

**.**


	3. Chapter 3

** Part Three: The New World **

**Camelot.**

**October 3500**

Merlin returned to consciousness slowly. His eyes remained shut – he was in too much pain to even consider opening them – but his hearing filtered back to his brain and Merlin began to understand what was going on around him.

Someone was walking close to him and, judging by the noise their feet made against the ground, Merlin would hazard a guess that the ground was hard and probably man-made. This meant that he couldn’t be at the druid camps, or even out in the refugee’s home, and a slight spark of terror rose in Merlin’s chest.

He remembered then; remembered being shot by the Picking gun, falling down into unconsciousness and whisked away to the New World. He’d clearly been taken to whatever facility they used to draw the magic from people, plugged into the machine, feelers against his head and his hands.

Merlin didn’t dare try to search for his magic, afraid of what it could do. It had betrayed him before (and how odd was it to think of his magic having a life of its own… except it did, it had a life and had chosen to ignore Merlin’s wishes) and he didn’t trust it any longer. If his magic bubbled over now, that would be it. Even though everything seemed hopeless, Merlin still had a chance of surviving this.

After all, he was awake, wasn’t he? He was willing to bet that not many others had woken after being placed down here, so he had to keep a low profile.

As Merlin became ever more aware of what was going on, he realised that he was alone aside from one other person, a guard perhaps? They were sealed off in a room, more of a booth or a cubicle really, completely enclosed and alone.

This could be his chance, Merlin realised. If he could overpower whoever was in the cubicle with him, switch their places even, and then he could escape. The only reason it hadn’t been done before was likely to be because no one had strong enough magic, and Merlin knew he had to get out of here sooner or later. Every passing minute he spent here was a minute he was placing himself in further danger, and Merlin needed to keep as low a profile as possible.

There was an odd sound, like a door being hurled upwards amongst a whirl of technology, and then silence. It took a moment to realise that the guard, for lack of knowing who they really were, had left the cubicle.

Merlin took his chance and opened his eyes. It hurt, both moving just that tiny amount and adjusting to the glaring lights that surrounded him, but he was glad for it, able to finally see what he’d only been able to imagine before.

The cubicle was a little longer than the table he was laid on and a little wider than a desk, pushed to the back of the room. Wires shot out from the wall the desk was pressed against, connecting to Merlin’s hand and forehead, clearly the feelers that would suck his magic from him.

There was another machine too, a small box that was clipped onto the edge of the table. It connected to Merlin’s wrist with a wrap-around cuff, beeping in time with his heart and monitoring his vital signs.

Tentatively, Merlin shifted his weight until he sat up, feet dangling off the edge of the table. He pried the end of the cuff off, unwrapping it from his wrist and lingering a moment, afraid the machine would set off an alarm, before he dropped the monitoring device on the cold table.

No alarm sounded and Merlin relaxed a little, taking in a shaky breath. He took another look around, looking for anything to give him a clue as to where he was, and he noticed a floor plan on the wall, showing routes on how to evacuate the area.

It looked as though the facilities spanned several layers of the tower, almost at the very base. There wasn’t much detail on the overview of the whole tower on the evacuation plan, and the segment that it drew out in more detail was only just enough to suffice. He’d been told that the dragon was at the base of the Tower, under the Picking section, so all Merlin had to do was find a way down and he could work from there.

The plans showed that the facilities were divided onto levels, though Merlin couldn’t say what determined the levels. He was on the central level, with only one other floor beneath Merlin and the rest of the Tower.

He scanned the other desk in the room, looking for any paperwork or, well, anything of use, but it was devoid of anything useful, bare save for one of the guns they’d use to sedate Merlin and the others.

And suddenly, Merlin had a plan. He hadn’t wanted to risk using his magic, but if it had come to that then he would have, simply because he needed out. But now that he’d found the gun, he’d be able to stun the guard and switch their positions.

It wasn’t something Merlin wanted to do, but the past months had changed and hardened him. He wasn’t just the hardy boy from an Island anymore, but he’d grown into a man with the potential to change the world, quite literally. He still didn’t fully believe he was the kind of person who deserved prophesies and greatness, but there was too much at stake to not do anything. His magic wanted him alive, at any rate, so what harm could it do to try and help?

It wasn’t as if he had anything else anymore. A life with the druids would have been the only thing that might have made Merlin change his mind, stay hidden away from the world, but that had been ripped away by his mistakes.

Everything had been of Merlin’s own making. Will and his mother had been taken from him because he’d blindly thought that they’d all be able to survive the seas, that his magic would have been able to save them all just because he’d connected with the ocean for a moment, because it was new to him again. And Mordred had run because Merlin had failed, failed so hard to protect him even after all the promises. Gaius had been taken because he’d tried to help Merlin, even after Merlin had ignored his advice again and again.

But Merlin could put things right. Or at least try, because there was nothing else for him now. Everyone he cared about had been taken or placed their hopes in him to right the wrongs of this world. It was almost too much, but Merlin had to find a way to do it, he had to.

It was a while before the guard came back, but Merlin was lying sedately on the table, stun gun tucked between the cool metal of the table and the dirtied t-shirt he was still wearing, covered in bog muck and dried mud. He waited patiently, knowing that he only had one shot at this and that it had to go right.

A crackled voice came through on some sort of communication device, but Merlin couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Right, got that,” the guard said, a male voice, so Merlin was in luck there. At least he wouldn’t have to squeeze into whatever a woman might have been wearing. “This one’s results should be at the lab now; they just need to be cross referenced to see if he has any relatives in the magic-bank.”

There was a muffled laugh on both sides, and Merlin fought down his anger, trying not to spike faster vital signs.

“Should be done soon. For some reason the boss wanted them double checked.” There was a pause, and then, “mm, I’m not sure whether it’s because the Lab cocked up the tests or this one’s a bit more interesting, maybe he’s a runaway from a noble family or something.”

Merlin’s breathing was shallow and knew that he had to get out of there as soon as he could. Whatever had happened, they were looking over his results (results for what?) again and with more scrutiny. Whatever that meant, it wasn’t good for Merlin’s prospects.

“Look, I have to run another tester before we can hook him up so I’ll speak to you later, yeah?” there was another muffled reply before a beep, the communication device switching off as the guard turned back to face Merlin.

“Poor sod you,” he muttered, stepping beside Merlin and looking at the vital monitor. “Still, could be worse. You could have been shot, looking at you I’m thinking you’re one of the monster children lot.”

The Wild Children he had to mean, the children that they shot at for fun when there was nothing else to do. Merlin suddenly didn’t feel as regretful for what he was about to do and he waited, just until the guard was rearranging the feeler on his head.

Merlin had never shot a gun before, but he’d been on the receiving end and knew the damage wasn’t pretty. Whatever the guard had said, it hadn’t made it easier to press the muzzle of the gun against his side, sending an electrical pulse through his body and knocking him into unconsciousness.

Trying not to look at how the man’s limbs spasmed, Merlin ripped the feelers and the vital checker from his body, hopping off of the table fully. He didn’t have too much time; anyone could turn up at any time after all, so he just had to work as quickly as possible.

The first to go was the man’s over-clothes. The guard wore a dark grey, one-piece suit, zipped up with a thick utility belt splitting his body segments. It was easy to strip the clothes and slip them over his own, zipping the ensemble up and clipping the belt around his waist.

Over the months, Merlin had lost a lot of weight. While he’d hardly been on the heavier side before, always having been a skinny child, the belt slipped down his hips now, showing that what little fat he’d had on him before had been starved off during his time in the New World. He had to use the buckle to rip a new hole in the belt, looping it around his waist and clipping it shut.

Next came the shoes. It turned out that the man had slightly smaller feet, but Merlin needed the shoes. Besides, blisters were favourable to death and Merlin needed to hurry.

His last task was to haul the man onto the table and clip him up to the machines. Merlin didn’t know if they monitored the activity in this cubicle, but even so, it would delay the guard when he woke so that Merlin could be away and a distant memory.

Lifting the guard onto the table was hard work, and Merlin was panting by the time he straightened, arms aching. He hadn’t had to do manual labour for a long time, aside from walking out on the moors, and it felt strange to finally see how much he’d changed. Back on Ealdor, Merlin had worked his whole life, stretched his physical capabilities and built them up. Now, in this land of myths and shining futures, he was fading, losing everything that had been Merlin and creating Emrys, a man of magic.

As a last thought, Merlin slipped the stunning gun into his belt, glancing around the room to check that everything was in order. He spared a last glance at the guard, in plain clothing and looking so normal that Merlin felt a twinge of horror at what he was doing, before he moved to the door. He ignored the panel of buttons at the side, instead opting to wrench the handle down and exit, heart in throat and head held high, determined to look as though he belonged.

There was no one out in the corridor. It was cold and dark, the only light coming from yellowing bulbs placed strategically against the cubicle sides. The aisle Merlin was on stretched almost endlessly with cubicles placed a few paces apart from each other, stretching out to all sides. There had to be at least one hundred in each rows, and Merlin didn’t even want to think about how many rows this level contained, let alone the other levels.

Merlin walked forwards, slightly-too-small boots clipping against the ground. He tried not to act as though he didn’t belong, but Merlin couldn’t help but look around, jumping at every slight creak or groan that the Tower gave.

The noises clearly weren’t just natural structural problems. It was why Nimueh drained the power of the people, though she no doubt used part of the power for her own gains. But the fact was, Camelot was crumbling from the bottom up and unless Merlin could find something to do, all those people in their New World were going to die, falling to the ground like the birds had whenever it was their time to die, though Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he had seen that. Birds were more of a myth than a reality nowadays, as with so many things.

The walk to the side of the level was slow, but when he reached it, the area was mercifully empty. There was a door – automatic, though it had a manual lever just like the door back in the cubicle. This time, Merlin pressed a button to the side, watching with delight as the door shot up of its own accord.

He wasn’t exactly a stranger to the wonders and mysteries of the world, but Merlin had never lived in a technological world. Seeing a door rush up because of it was amazing, if a little crude when thinking of the logistics. This world, no matter how cruel, would be amazing, Merlin could feel it.

The area he stepped into looked to be a central column, reaching up high to the tips of the Tower, probably the only entrance to Camelot. There were side steps, leading to the support towers, where the Pickings came through, marched through evidently before being deposited on which ever level they fitted best.

And then there was the rest of the column that stretched down, stairs visible, curling around the central lift mechanism that undoubtedly everyone else would use but Merlin. He had a choice; he could go up to Camelot right away, or he could face the creature that had called him, speak to the dragon that had spoken to him over miles and miles of ocean.

The dragon he had upturned his life for.

The choice wasn’t a hard one, and Merlin walked to the door that would gain him access to the stairwell, the stairs pristine and oddly out of place compare to the rest of the Tower.

He wasn’t sure how long he walked for, but the stairs continued to spiral down lazily, doors appearing every now and again that would lead off to emergency evacuation areas or the level that had been below Merlin’s cubicle. Every time he neared such a door, his heart beat wildly in his chest, hoping that no one would open them, electronically or otherwise, and – thankfully – no one did.

For the first time, Merlin was completely alone. He’d never experience this kind of alone before, even when he’d first been washed up on the shores of the New World. At least then there had been the uncertainty of whether anyone else had survived, and Merlin had met Mordred. Back then, he’d at least had company, be it from a child who hadn’t talked, until the mass of refugees.

And though Merlin had been alone in the camp, he’d also been surrounded by life and people. They had been noisy, smelly and horrific at times, but they’d all been so alive and so brilliant because they’d made it that far.

In the Tower, putting one foot in front of the other down the stairs, Merlin was alone. There was no life around him, not really. The people in the cubicles were sedated and the guards cared little for what they had to do. It was just a job for them and while a few may object, they still carried on with their jobs. In his principles and goals, he was alone.

The stairs changed as Merlin continued down, as did the air. Before, on the levels that housed the Pickings, the air had been chilled and somewhat fresh. As Merlin ventured lower, though, the air grew warmer, thicker, as though the earth wanted to suffocate itself, choke up until it died, ignoring what humanity had done to its magic and lustre.

The stairs gave way, eventually, to a rocky and pitted cliff face. There were clumps of rocks, clearly where steps used to be, so Merlin followed their trail. He continued on down, eyes searching for any sign of the real dragon, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

The climb grew ever increasingly difficult, and Merlin stopped more frequently, searching for the right place to hold on.

The rock face was slippery and the stones grazed along Merlin's palms as he meandered across, seeking a safe foothold. There was a jut of rock a little way from his shin and, with a bit of effort, he'd be able to land safely on the rock before continuing to climb down, seeking his dragon.

It was this time, in his borrowed uniform, still smelling of the bog and caked in mud with Ygraine’s kiss and hopes resting on his cheek, that Merlin had time to think. He was safe, to a degree, down here, safe from people as he drew further into the ground, wondering how long ago he’d passed sea level or even if he had at all.

What was he doing? Putting all ridiculous prophecies and pleas for help aside, what was he actually doing out here? So far from home and truly alone now, there wasn't anything else that he could go back to now, but why had they all even bothered to leave?

Merlin wasn't born of the Skies. He was part of the Ocean, born on a scrap of land and catering to the whims of an uncertain sea. He shouldn't be here, in Camelot of all places, tucked away in the clouds and yet climbing down the main tower, clinging desperately in hope he didn't slip and break his neck. The most climbing he'd done in Ealdor was up to fix the shingles on the roof, but look at him now!

It was ridiculous and maybe a few months ago he could have left, drifted away on a little boat to fade away to nothingness, a memory on the sea, a ghost (like so many) lost on the ocean.

Everything had changed though. He’d grown, away from his family and friends, forged a new life in the druid camp and made promises. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t explicitly said the promises, but for every child and adult that had lost someone to the Pickings, Merlin had promised to find them.

He was far from being alone. Even though they weren’t with him, Merlin still had Hunith, Will, Gaius, Mordred and even Ygraine. There was the dragon too, though he'd only seen the projection of the creature. The dragon that had called to him, over miles of ocean, to plea for his help, crying out that Camelot was dying and he needed help.

But that was enough now. There was no use thinking about what he could have done, what could have been. This was his life and there were people out there, his friends, who needed him.

The air around him seemed to balloon suddenly, a great wave of heat belting into the air. Merlin froze on the rock, his foot skittering down slightly and knocking a stone free. The stone didn’t fall into the empty cavern, but instead clattered onto a ledge, showing Merlin that he’d reached a vantage point. There was another rush of warm air, before Merlin’s world tilted once more, as he set his eyes on the huge, golden eye of the dragon.

"How small for a destiny so great," a voice commented, wracking through Merlin's very bones.

Merlin turned, letting go of the hold he’d maintained on the wall and looking at the dragon, heart sinking. It was massive, head bigger than any of the livestock on Ealdor, and stocky. Its eyes were golden and huge, staring openly at Merlin as he realised, with a sinking heart, that this wasn’t his dragon.

This dragon – the Great Dragon, the last of its kind – wasn’t his dragon. Did that mean there was another, a dragon that had managed to escape the slaughter, whenever it happened? Had he just awakened from a slumber and noticed that his friend, his kin, was trapped and needed Merlin’s help?

Or was his dragon a ghost, lost in an old magic circle of Stones. It was entirely possible, Merlin supposed, that his dragon was just a memory locked away in the sentient magic the Obsidians possessed, but the thought sent a chill through his core.

What if he’d come all this way for a ghost? It was as good as a dead end. The Great Dragon couldn’t help him, chained as he was by a thick, metal collar and chain, and Merlin couldn’t do this alone.

“You are but one half of a whole,” the dragon said dryly, as if it knew exactly what Merlin was thinking. “But you are not quite ready to meet your destiny.”

He sat back on the rocks he’d been standing on, head coming level to Merlin’s eye line now. There was no denying that he was a magnificent creature, and Merlin ignored the bubble of hope that rose in his chest to take in the dragon fully.

His father had known this dragon. For a short time at least, but Balinor had been trained to deal with dragons. He’d studied them inside and out, known every flaw and every perfection. He’d trained so that he’d be able to speak to this dragon as an equal, but Merlin didn’t have that time.

“My father was a Dragonlord,” Merlin said, voice hoarse. “But I don’t know anything about you,” he admitted, wanting someone to be able to take the strain off, even just for a moment. The dragon could be the one with all the answers for now, even if it was the wrong one.

“I shouldn’t think you do,” the dragon replied, shuffling on its perch and sending a few rocks skittering down. Another burst of warm air rose and Merlin lowered himself to the ground, sitting down gratefully.

“But you still carry your father’s blood and his power.” The dragon tilted his head, looking at Merlin curiously. “The Dragonlords are dwindling,” he continued. “It took five of them to renew the Old Magic placed on me, and they come down more frequently too.”

Merlin looked up, unsure what the dragon wanted him to say.

“Every month now,” he rumbled on, giving a huge sigh. “And the Old Magic is warming the earth; no doubt you can feel it returning.”

Trust the dragon to be half-mad, Merlin thought. All he wanted was straight answers and instead the creature was talking about the earth and the spells cast on him.

“You’d do well to listen to me,” the dragon continued, still intently staring at Merlin. “Because what I say might change your very destiny.”

That caught Merlin’s full attention, and he tilted his head, waiting for the dragon to explain.

“Do you know where you are?” the dragon asked, his tone familiar, as if he and Merlin had known each other for a very long time.

“Camelot,” Merlin replied easily. And then added, “The base of the Tower.”

The dragon shook his head, jaw splitting into a terrifying smile. “Not just the base of the Tower, young warlock,” it grinned. “We’re in the earth itself; buried down with the last of the Land, down in the dark and the warmth of the earth’s core… though that is much further still.”

Merlin took his eyes from the dragon, looking all around them. The ledge they were on was the only one of its kind, jutting out over darkness that led further into the earth. There was nothing different about this land than that on Ealdor, or even in the Wastelands, aside from that it was rocky. Merlin had thought that it would have been different, that he’d have been able to feel if it was the old earth, from way back before the floods. This, though, was just like any other land, ordinary and plain.

“You were caught,” the dragon said in the gloom, letting out another sigh. “Can you reach your magic?”

Trying, Merlin shook his head. “But it did that back in the Wastelands, to protect me.”

“I have no doubt that it did, but it’s blocked at the moment. When they caught you,” he said, inching forwards and closer to Merlin. “They used something to block your magic until they were happy that you were clean and safe to draw from.”

That would explain the tests, at least. Maybe his amount of power hadn’t shown up on them and the tests that had had to be re-ordered were simply because he had relatives in Camelot, people who would have made a fuss if they knew about him. People who would have missed him, in other words, and who would have made too big a fuss if they found out than what could be controlled and buried back into hiding.

“Here,” the dragon offered, bringing a huge talon closer to Merlin. “I’ll release you from the block.”

It happened with a rush and Merlin gasped as his magic tingled, suddenly free and alive. Another rush came, this time from outside of his body, the magic of the earth, the magic that told Merlin this was different, that this was what the land felt like before the Flood and before the people had twisted magic for their own gain. He could feel the earth moving, feel the memories it contained and, most of all, feel the mighty presence of the dragon.

“We’re kin,” Merlin said, looking at the dragon in shock, but feeling the bond between them pulse as clear as day.

The dragon inclined his head, “We are, and our bond is stronger than any I’ve felt for centuries.”

Merlin wanted to shake his head, but he couldn’t deny it. He could feel their connection and knew that no others even came close. He wasn’t alone, never would be so long as the dragon lived.

“I’m Kilgharrah,” the dragon rumbled, drawing his talon back under Merlin’s ledge to rest back on his crop of rocks. “And the legends speak of you as Emrys, but that is not all you are, is it?”

It was slightly shocking to hear the dragon say that. Since he had discovered (or rediscovered, really) his magic, all Merlin had been told was that he had to become this great person, someone who could save them all. The druids had told him that he was Emrys, the one that would save them all, but the dragon was different. Kilgharrah saw past all of that, saw Merlin for who he really was and that he was far more than just someone called upon to undo the damage Nimueh and her forbearers had caused.

“I’m Merlin,” he said, tired. The rush the magic had given him dropped suddenly, leaving him boneless and weary. The only comfort came from the dragon’s presence and the warm gusts of air drifting up from below them.

“What is that?” Merlin asked, nodding his head down into the gloom below them.

“My fire,” Kilgharrah said simply. “The magic within me burns and the only way I can stop it from destroying me completely is to use my fire.”

Merlin nodded slowly. The restrictions that Nimueh and the other sorcerers of Camelot placed on the dragon meant that his magic, the natural magic he’d been born with, couldn’t connect and fuse with the earth magic.

Usually it wouldn’t be such a problem, but the dragon – like Merlin – was a creature of magic, born with it running through his veins like blood. The spells that kept Kilgharrah’s magic synchronising the stones were raging against the earth magic, digging into his very soul and tearing him apart.

“You channel it into your fire,” Merlin said softly, suddenly understanding Kilgharrah’s pain. He could almost feel it echo in his own body, the struggle for power that the magic inside of the dragon had raged for years.

“A dragon’s flame is an odd thing,” Kilgharrah said, snorting lightly as he turned his head to the side. “It is the primary source that a dragon uses to channel its magic, mingling with its breath.”

Merlin absorbed the information, nodding slightly. Kilgharrah ducked his head away from the ledge and Merlin craned his neck to watch the dragon flex his neck, let loose a roar of fire from his maw, lighting up the area around them in beautiful oranges and yellows.

The fire curled down the rest of the chasm, revealing multiple ledges and rock formations jutting out. They had to be near the bottom of the Tower by now, with the amount that Merlin had climbed and how long he’d been walking. His legs ached and his feet had blisters, from pressing to the too-small shoes he’d stolen from the guard.

The fire died out eventually, hitting rocks far down where Merlin couldn’t quite see, vague splashes of yellow and shadow hitting the rocks and pooling up, letting loose more gusts of warm air.

“But you didn’t come down here to learn about the dragons of old, did you?” Kilgharrah asked, bringing his head back up to Merlin’s level. Merlin shook his head.

“There was another dragon,” he began. “I saw him through the Obsidians and I thought that he was, well, you.”

For a moment, Kilgharrah looked taken aback, before his eyes flickered up and he hummed in consideration, lifting one of his legs so that he could point a talon at Merlin.

“Not everything in Camelot is what it first appears,” he said and Merlin’s heart sank a little more. Were there more secrets? Ones that he hadn’t uncovered and that neither Gaius nor Ygraine had found out?

“The dragon you saw was most likely a figure conjured up by the New World technology. People in that world can take on whatever form they so please when they navigate through their New World maze.” Kilgharrah snorted again, a puff of air blowing Merlin’s hair back from his face.

“It’s not such a far cry for someone with talent to switch from the maze and connect to the Stone Circle. In principle, it’s easy; just find the right codes and pathways and you’re through. Most people aren’t aware of the circle and, when they are, don’t want to stand in the way of Nimueh.” The dragon’s lip curled in a smile. “Perhaps that will tell you more about your dragon.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “No, that doesn’t tell me anything,” he said indignantly, tired of people skirting around answers. Was it so hard for someone to give him a straight answer for once?

“There’s also one more thing that you should know,” Kilgharrah said, curling the words, drawing Merlin back in. “They stole people precious to you, didn’t they?”

Nodding, Merlin un-tucked his legs, kneeling so that he could shuffle closer. Small stones bit into his knees, but he ignored them. Kilgharrah was connected to the Obsidians after all so he’d know about the people connected to Merlin.

“One of them has ties to Camelot!” Kilgharrah said gleefully, turning an amused stare in Merlin’s direction. “I wondered what had become of him when he was banished, though I never expected to sense him again.”

“Ygraine was with him too,” Merlin put in, wondering how the dragon would react. It was nothing remarkable, just a raised, scaly eyebrow before he carried on.

“And a child? I can feel your magic on him.” There was something close to distain in Kilgharrah’s tone and Merlin asked him why, unafraid to challenge a dragon so.

“Why?” he repeated, looking at Merlin in amusement. “Because he has the potential to bring about your downfall.” The dragon drew his head back a little, a serious look in his eyes. “There will be a choice and, depending on which course of action you take, the druid boy will bring the downfall of Camelot and destroy any hope you have of uniting Albion.”

Merlin shook his head. It couldn’t be true; Mordred was just a child after all.

“But that’s only if I choose the wrong thing?” Merlin insisted, needing to know the answer,

“There is no wrong or right Merlin,” Kilgharrah drawled, smoke curling from his nostrils as he snorted. “Only what is and what isn’t, and it will come to you as a choice.”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin shuffled back until he was sitting down again. It was slightly uncomfortable, but his knees had been aching from the position he’d been in, legs tingling from lack of blood.

“There’s also another,” Kilgharrah said, and Merlin looked at him sharply.

“No, it was just Gaius and Mordred,” he replied in slight confusion. “No one else,” he repeated, heart hammering. What if they’d caught Ygraine too?

“Your magic is powerful,” Kilgharrah commented, “And you are someone who is guided by their emotions. No doubt Gaius told you about your connection with the Old Magic, and how the waters wanted you to survive… but did he tell you the rest?”

Merlin’s heart leapt in his chest, not wanting to gather hope, but failing. Could it be…? Was the dragon saying what Merlin thought he was?

“You have enough power to simply wish something and have it done at your bidding. Why should you think that this was any different?” Kilgharrah bent his head forward again, bringing his head closer than it had ever been to Merlin, so close that he could see every scale on the dragon’s skin.

“They have your mother,” he said calmly, bringing Merlin’s world crashing down around him. “Your magic was strong enough to pull her through the sea alive, but they snatched her before you had a chance to find her.”

His breathing was shallow, and it felt as though Merlin was using every inch of his strength not to fall over. What Kilgharrah was saying… how could it be true?

“How…” he began, hardly forming it as a question as the though snapped off, lost in the scream of his mind. His mother was alive, hurt and trapped, but she was alive.

“I’ve already explained that your magic is strong and yes, it’s true that the Old Magic wants to be used by you, and will use you if it has to, but you have a talent. Your talent was rare even in the golden ages of magic, few mortals ever possessing such a gift.” Kilgharrah widened his eyes a little, pupils boring deep into Merlin.

“You need to understand that you are powerful. You contain more magic than anyone I can remember, and you have the potential to turn the magic at the very core of the earth if you so wished to.” Merlin wasn’t quite listening, mind still reeling over what Kilgharrah had shared before.

“Merlin,” the dragon hissed, and Merlin turned to him, eyes wide in surprise at Kilgharrah’s tone. “When I say that you are the only one who can save us, I mean it. When you make your choice, the option you must take will be one that only you can complete, and complete it you must, no matter what the cost.”

He drew his head back at that, finished with whatever wisdom he’d supposedly imparted.

“But my mother,” Merlin said weakly, knowing the answer before he’d finished speaking.

Realistically, Merlin couldn’t save Hunith first. Where could they go? It would be dangerous enough for Merlin to risk everything by himself, and with magic, let alone drag someone else into it. In the even something went wrong, Merlin could at least protect himself, but he couldn’t risk something happening to his mother, not after everything they’d been through (everything that was his fault).

“You know the answer,” Kilgharrah said solemnly. “And I understand. I watched my kin die at the hands of humans until I was the last one. I couldn’t save my friends and family, but you can save yours, and more.”

Merlin tilted his head down, closing his eyes. He could feel Kilgharrah’s pain and knew that he had to do everything he could in order to stop it happening to himself. He wouldn’t let Nimueh take away any one he loved, and he had a chance to restore so many lives.

“How do I get into Camelot?” he asked slowly, almost wishing that Kilgharrah wouldn’t give him an answer, just so that he could go back to sleep and forget the world, just for a while.

The dragon did answer though. “The central stairs will lead you right up to the city gates. There should be identification cards in your stolen suit somewhere.” He also seemed to pre-empt Merlin’s question, “They’re electronical and there aren’t any image recognition issues with it. No one expects a guard to be switched for someone with magic, after all.”

There was a wry curl to the dragon’s lips that Merlin couldn’t help but copy.

“When you are in the city, you need to find your dragon,” Kilgharrah said simply, shifting on his mound of rocks, sending more skittering down into the darkness. He almost looked as though he was preparing to leave, but that couldn’t be right.

“How do I do that?” Merlin asked and he realised that, yes, the dragon was preparing to leave.

“Wait,” he said, standing hurriedly. “What are you doing?”

There was no reply except a swoosh of leathery wings, the dragon hurling his massive frame off of the ledge and down between the rock formations, the clink of his chain the only sound left in the darkness.

Merlin stood there for a while, trying to wrap his head around everything. It was an impossible task, though, so he sat down on the ground again, mind full of memories of his mother. He remembered how she would wake him with a smile, the way she’d chase him down to the village when he was younger, all the happier memories and the ones he’d never have again unless he did something to save her, to save all of them.

He didn’t know how he was going to find his dragon (person, Merlin had to correct himself, and he tried not to think about what kind of person was waiting for him), but Merlin had a larger goal to surpass before all of that. He had to get to the gates of Camelot, and though Kilgharrah had assured him he would be okay with the identification cards, it was a frightening prospect.

He took a deep breath, knowing that he had to move onwards. He could try to sleep down here, but any sleep he got would be fitful, at best, and he’d wake in an even worse condition than he was in now. So he made upwards, trailing along the path he had taken down, a slope at the edge of the ledge his route.

From the very start, Merlin knew that he’d have to get into Camelot at some point. Even before they’d set off from Ealdor, he’d known that if they got there, they’d enter the city. Of course back then, he hadn’t expected that he’d be sneaking into Camelot with a stolen identity, but Merlin had learnt by now that things changed.

The walk back to the Picking levels was slow and hard work. Merlin’s feet ached with every step and he was almost one hundred per cent sure that his feet were bleeding by now. There were definitely blisters, Merlin thought as he wriggled his toes, wincing, and large ones at that.

At some point during the journey, Merlin stopped on the rocky steps and leant his head against the wall. He needed a rest, and that was exactly what he did. It was uncomfortable, but Merlin managed to get a little amount of sleep, hunched over awkwardly. When he woke, he continued on, past the rocks and the earth and up to the white staircase.

He paused when he reached the first level that stored people from the Pickings, but knew he couldn’t linger. He needed to stay as unknown as he could, and that meant he had to avoid people as much as possible. Merlin would be back, though, and he vowed as much to the people locked away in cubicles, promising that he’d save them all.

The stairs began to spiral more tightly, less effort in terms of distance, but they began to make Merlin feel wobbly. It was hard work too, walking up as they coiled, so Merlin stepped out of the white door that led to the third level of the Pickings, closing his eyes for a moment.

The panels that separated the staircase from the main halls were a type of plastic – or perhaps glass – and Merlin risked looking at them, trying to gauge how awful he looked. He was probably still mud-smeared, stinking of the bog, and too skinny in his stolen clothes.

He sighed, turning away from the plastic and reaching a hand for the door to the stairwell again, when the electronic whoosh of a door sounded behind him, and Merlin froze.

“You’re not taking the stairs are you, mate?” a voice asked and Merlin turned around slowly, heart attempting to leap through his mouth.

He chuckled nervously, looking at the other uniformed guard. “Thought it might be a good way to get fit, you know?”

The guard looked at him oddly, moving a leg back slightly and shifting his weight. The door shut behind him, and there was only the one guard, so Merlin knew that he would be able to take him down if he had to. He didn’t want to though, and it would be a good way to test whether he’d fit in in Camelot.

“Get fit? Why would you want to do that?” he asked in confusion, taking a step towards Merlin.

Merlin had always been a fast thinker, able to spin up stories in no time on Ealdor, so this was no different. Lying was a second nature to him, or had to become one now at least, and the words slipped easily from Merlin’s lips.

“Down in the Wastelands,” he drawled, forcing a grin. “The Wild Children, if one of them puts up a chase I want to be in range of it.”

The words went against everything Merlin believed, what he’d experienced, but the guard broke into a smile, closing the space between them to slap Merlin on the back.

“Oh, I like you,” he said. His nose twitched, as if he could smell where Merlin had been, but he made no comment, perhaps not wanting to offend his new friend. Well, that was what Merlin hoped at least, for if this was what people in the New World smelt like, he’d rather not go at all.

“What’s your name then?” the guard asked, stepping back from Merlin.

“Will,” Merlin blurted out, blood running cold as he said the name. The guard didn’t seem to notice, holding a hand out for Merlin to shake, as Merlin wondered if Will had survived. Kilgharrah had said his magic was strong enough to reach out to those he loved, what if Will had survived too? Obviously he hadn’t been Picked, but he could have been in the swarm of refugees, tucked away from Merlin somewhere he hadn’t been able to find him.

“The name’s Jarl,” the man replied, shaking Merlin’s hand before jutting his head over to the second door on the plastic-glass wall. “The shuttle’s ready to leave, no point in carrying on with your fitness programme now it’s here.”

Jarl led the way over to the door, swiping a card he slipped from his pocket. The door opened to the shuttle, a long pod-type contraption, completely different to what Merlin had expected. For one, there weren’t any seats, just a rail that wrapped around the entire shuttle. For another, the walls of the shuttle was made of the clear plastic, strong yet utterly frightening if you’d never been in any electronical transportation before, let alone a see-through shuttle that would take them up to Camelot.

Merlin stepped inside, trying to listen to Jarl prattle on about his day’s work and not freak out. He gripped the bar at the edge as soon as he could, shooting Jarl a slightly-nervous chuckle, hoping it was an appropriate point in the conversation. The man wasn’t paying any attention to Merlin, lounging against the opposite side to Merlin and still talking about something or other.

“You going up all the way?” he asked and Merlin only just managed to tear his wide eyes away from looking back at the open door, wondering what Jarl would do if he just ran for it and walked up the rest of the way.

“Um,” Merlin began, his throbbing feet reminding him of one good reason for not walking the rest of the way. “Yes,” he recovered, bobbing his head and offering Jarl another smile. “Yes I am.”

There was a lapse in the conversation then, but Jarl didn’t seem suspicious. In fact, he seemed fine with everything that Merlin had said, past the initial moment of uncertainty, but it looked as though Merlin had secured his identity to Jarl when he’d mentioned wanting to kill the Urchins.

An odd beep sounded and the door to the shuttle closed. Merlin tensed, purposefully avoiding looking at Jarl, and he steeled himself, preparing for… well whatever would happen.

The shuttle made a whirling noise before it began to creep upwards, Merlin felt his whole body sag, unused to the feeling of moving up in this way, before he got it back under control, just as the shuttle picked up speed.

Risking a glance over to Jarl, Merlin noticed that the man was simply looking out the window, completely unconcerned with everything else. Merlin wished he was able to have that attitude, but he was fine for now looking at the grey-coloured floor, knowing that if he risked a look anywhere else then he’d most likely throw up.

The journey upwards wasn’t what Merlin had expected. From the looks of the chute they were travelling up, Merlin had assumed ridiculous speeds and people crammed together. What he had got, though, was a simple pod shape travelling up at a normal pace (it still felt odd, and Merlin’s stomach churned nevertheless), with just the two of them. There were no stops on the way up, and Merlin even managed to look out of the window for a moment, just before the shuttle slowed and came to a stop.

The scenery around them hadn’t changed and if Merlin hadn’t known for sure that they’d travelled then he’d simply have said that they went in a circle, returning to the platform level they’d left.

A ding sounded, the door opened and Jarl ushered Merlin out. It revealed a light-grey coloured corridor, white walls curling round to form the circle of the Tower, and a simple electronically-controlled door.

“Are you on shift tomorrow?” Jarl asked suddenly, bringing out his electronic card again and making to swipe it at the door. Merlin’s fingers fumbled through the pockets of his stolen uniform, searching for the cards, and he pulled out a plain wallet, thankfully devoid of pictures or other mementoes that might have given him away.

“Yes,” Merlin replied to the question, though he answered with a lilt in his voice, as if he was phrasing it as a question. Thankfully, Jarl wasn’t the sort to pick up on it and he simple nodded with a gruff smile.

“Maybe one day you can take me out to the Wastelands and we can snag a few of the runts,” Jarl said with a dirty laugh, leading them through the door.

Merlin clutched his identification cards and tried not to let his reaction show as they walked through, into a wide area. A few other people were milling about, talking to one another or busy with, well, whatever it was the people in Camelot were busy with, but they weren’t what had literally taken Merlin’s breath away.

Before them, there was a huge archway, jutting out from the ground. It looked to be made from the same material as the tower – a pearly-grey stone – and from the archway hung a wrought iron grid, a few doorway shapes bitten into the metal where it touched the ground.

While he couldn’t see what was behind it, Merlin knew that Camelot was just a gate away, so close and finally, after everything, real. No one seemed to notice his stumble, and Merlin knew that he just had to knuckle on and get through this, find somewhere he could be alone to really experience Camelot and let it flow through his body.

They crossed the space between the door to the shuttle and the gate, Merlin wrenching his eyes from the huge structure to track what Jarl was doing. The man moved into one of the doorframes, inserting one of his cards into a slot at the side and the door opened, splitting down the middle. He spared a glance at Merlin, bobbing his head, before he was gone, lost to the electric pulse of Camelot.

Merlin took a deep breath. Beyond the door lay his destiny, something that had apparently been prophesised for thousands of years, and Merlin could feel his magic tingle under his skin, unafraid to let itself known any longer.

As he’d seen Jarl do, Merlin stepped into one of the doorways. It was a slight arch carved out of the dark iron of the gate and there were only two flaws, the slot for the card and the slight slit in the door for the seal.

With trembling hands, Merlin slid one of the cards out of the wallet, pressing it into the slot, the black line facing down and the shape of a dragon on the front. A tiny, red light showed up above the slot and Merlin’s anticipation grew as he brought the wallet back out in front of him, switching the cards.

No one stood behind him, but even so Merlin was wary that he couldn’t spend too long in here. If he looked as though he didn’t know what he was doing, he’d be spotted in an instant. It would be worse than just being Picked, for he’d impersonated a guard, switched places back in the cubicle, and that was sure to be some kind of offence against the monarchy. Not to mention the fact that Merlin had escaped the cubicle, knew what Nimueh and the rulers were doing to thousands of innocents. If they discovered Merlin, they’d know how much of a threat he was, so it couldn’t be an option.

Trying another one of the cards, Merlin clenched his jaw as he slotted it in, the red light flashing obnoxiously. His palms were beginning to sweat now, and the next card was slightly slippery as he pushed it in.

Merlin held his breath as the machine read whatever it needed to with a click, and the light went green. Relief flooded Merlin and it was with great effort that he walked through the now-open doors and didn’t simply collapse on the floor.

To say that Camelot was what Merlin had dreamt would be a lie. It was nothing like he’d imagined, but then again he wasn’t sure if this could be counted as being in Camelot just yet. There was a line of open-backed shuttles, large enough just for one person at a time, and people all around Merlin (apparently there was another gate somewhere, possibly more than one) were climbing into the vehicles.

Following suit, Merlin tucked his legs into the little shuttle, sitting down on the padded seat. He only just managed to withhold a groan at how comfortable this little pod was, before a light flashed up on the panel before him, a red colour, then yellow and then green.

As soon as the green light faded, the pod jolted forwards, apparently on some kind of track or a line. Merlin’s shuttle peeled off away from the line of empty shuttles, falling into place between other people evidently headed for Camelot.

The line picked up speed and started moving up, curling around as if they were headed back to the central tunnel he had travelled up with Jarl. They didn’t end up going back on themselves though, instead moving through to another platform, the pods slowing down in speed again until they fell neatly nose-to-tail, people clambering out of them and onto the platforms.

Merlin followed suit, clambering up from his shuttle and following the people absently. The platform was enclosed in a high-ceilinged, white-washed metal building, so it was only when he stepped out of that that Merlin saw Camelot in all its glory.

The station was raised slightly, almost as if it were on a hill. It gave Merlin a sweeping view of Camelot, slightly sunken lower where it had dipped due to the magic, or maybe it was always like that. Either way, it looked like a picture from one of Merlin’s books.

A huge palace stood in the centre of the city, looking both out of place and perfect where it sat. It wasn’t metallic or gleaming, like most of the other tall buildings, but it drew attention regardless. Around the palace stood odd structures, some tall and thin and others stout, but the hum of activity and electricity feeding the land was undeniable. Merlin could feel the tingle where he stood, looking out at the land from up on a hill, standing alone outside a station.

Someone pushed into him, bumping his shoulder roughly. Merlin snapped from his gawping, hoping that no one had noticed him, and realised that everyone else was moving over to yet another shuttle. If his feet hadn’t have been so sore, Merlin would have asked why none of them bothered to build pathways anywhere, but they were aching badly, so Merlin simply complied with the fact that he was in the New World now, and they evidently did things differently here.

This shuttle was a little more familiar to Merlin. He’d seen images of old cars and buses, even seen wreckages of a few before they’d been ripped apart for scrap, and while this shuttle was longer and thinner than any bus he’d seen, it had wheels and looked as though it was going to save the same purpose.

It was a long journey, considering that all the people on board had to take this route from Camelot to the Picking levels almost every day, well, from what Merlin gathered from Jarl’s question at least. And though it wasn’t a gruelling trip, Camelot was supposed to be a technological haven, full of fast solutions to every problem. Merlin had expected teleports or something, though he supposed they would have burnt up a lot more electricity and therefore needed more magic than this transportation.

When he stepped off of the bus-shuttle, Merlin was completely submerged in Camelot. He’d chosen to get off as soon as he could and had been thrown into the outcrops of Camelot, the sparser area.

Here, it echoed the Wastelands in the fact that there were people, but they were forgotten people, living not in luxury, but just scraping by. Their homes were small, a few with things that needed to be fixed, and still clearly belonging to Camelot. The people, when Merlin saw them, were wide eyed and had dark shadows under their eyes, skinny and pale. These people knew how to work, maybe had been some of the last let into Camelot, and had scraped by, not part of the utopia they had thought they were reaching for.

Merlin followed the trail that the shuttle had taken, a pristine road made of grey slate-like material. Tracks had been dug into the ground and it was evidently this that the bus ran along, controlled and precise.

The city changed around Merlin, transforming from a mismatch of Old World and New into the true Sky City Merlin had always seen in pictures or heard about in whispered stories. There were structured buildings all around, some curved over in almost impossible shapes and others simple and squared, but they all had one thing in common. They were made from shiny materials, gleaming from lights all around.

Merlin’s eyes hurt, though he couldn’t say whether it was because of the electronic glare that surrounded him or whether it was purely due to tiredness. He hoped it was the latter, as he’d be spending a lot of time here now and he couldn’t put up with a constant headache. This world was different and Merlin needed to be able to adjust if he was ever going to find his dragon.

As he wandered through the city, taking in the booth cafés and the towering office buildings, he searched for somewhere to stay. There were hotels and other places to stay in the old books Merlin had read, so he’d simply assumed there was somewhere he’d be able to stay.

But Camelot weren’t accepting new people. Why should they run hotels when there was no need? Assuming that everyone got their own home, which would be the most practical thing, what was the point of hotels?

He turned onto another road and it was almost as though he’d stepped into another world. The pavements were cluttered with people, most laughing and smiling under the twinkle of electric lights, and there were rows of open shops, restaurants and other places of interest. Somehow, Merlin had stumbled upon the heart of the Sky City, to the buzzing core of it all and he couldn’t help but smile.

He’d missed seeing so many people in one place with smiles. He’d missed looking through groups of people to see a women smiling and men laughing, genuinely happy people. Merlin smiled slightly dumbly, picking his way through the masses of people and looking around in interest.

It was dark, almost night time (though Merlin wasn’t sure if the sky shown above was real or a fake, and he was more inclined to think that it was a fake) and bright signs shone, reflecting off of metal structures.

The whole city twinkled with the electricity that was slowly choking it and Merlin had to look away. Yes, it was beautiful, but he knew the price of such beauty, and once you looked past the superficial twinkle, all that was left was an ugly backbone. True, it was disguised by lights and huge signs, luring the people of Camelot into their trap and the never ending spiral that would be the downfall of the New World, but that made it no less true.

A growl sounded and Merlin’s whole middle jerked as his stomach made his hunger known. He was surprised that he’d lasted this long, in complete honesty, as the last thing he’d eaten had been the dirt-tasting bulb that Mordred had given him, and it wasn’t exactly a staple meal. He’d have to eat first and then see about sleep, as the pain in his stomach spread, clawing at his insides and almost doubling Merlin with its vigour.

There was a glaring sign that stood out, even amongst the other rows of shops and food places. It was plain, compared to the fancy lettering and coloured lights around Merlin, but it toted a word Merlin was familiar with and he headed towards it, wondering how easy it would be to get food at The Restaurant.

Merlin looked through the window and saw people of all types inside, a few in a uniform to match Merlin’s. That made him relax a little, and he slid his hand into his pocket to clutch at the wallet, bringing it out less shakily than he had the last time he’d used the cards, knowing that he’d have to use them as it was his only source of money.

At the door, there was a holographic person, a cheerful woman, and she greeted Merlin with a chirpy hello, welcoming him in. And, as predicted, she asked him to insert his card, so Merlin did so, hoping that he’d got the right one the first time around.

The woman’s image flickered as a small, red light beeped over the slot Merlin had entered the card, and he gave a slight snort of laughter, throwing a look over his shoulder. There were a few people behind him, but none seemed too worried by how long Merlin was taking.

He slid another card in, but the red light refused to budge, so Merlin looked at the wallet again, realising that he had no more cards.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, biting his lower lip as he decided what to do. He obviously couldn’t go in, but he needed to eat. Was the reason the card didn’t work due to there not being enough money – or whatever they used – on it, or had Merlin’s switch been noticed?

Merlin closed his eyes, about to step out of the line to look for rubbish disposal sites – there had to be some, right? And there would be food there at least – when the woman behind him tapped his shoulder.

“Sorry sir,” she said politely, smiling as she tucked a dark curl behind her ear. “Are your cards not working?”

Swallowing thickly, Merlin shook his head.

“How about I get you in on mine? I was supposed to meet someone for dinner but they cancelled, so you can repay me by keeping me company?” Merlin was about to protest when someone behind the woman harrumphed loudly and she moved forwards, slotting the card in and speaking to the holographic woman, telling her that she wanted two people to be charged.

“No, really I-“ Merlin began, but the woman simply shook her head, cheeks reddening.

“Please,” she cut in, “I don’t want to eat by myself and I’ve already paid for you now. You have to come.”

Shooting a glance out at the street, Merlin realised that there wasn’t any other option he’d prefer. It was easy to push aside the doors and follow the woman – he didn’t even know her name for pity’s sake – down to a table, sitting down on a plush chair opposite her.

“It’s not the nicest place,” she was saying, placing her bag on the table and rifling through to find a purse. “But the food’s better than you’d expect and it’s good value for money. Especially considering the stock crises at the moment and all,” she said, tilting her head expectantly at Merlin, obviously hinting that this stock issue was a massive problem and everyone should know.

“Um… yeah,” Merlin said, nodding as he cast a look around.

The Restaurant was simple, tables of all sizes planted strategically around pots of trees and flowers and at first they looked beautiful. But then Merlin looked a little closer and he noticed the glimmer in the flowers and the shimmer to the trees that would never have been found naturally. They were, like the woman outside, holographic images, about as real as his dragon.

The woman placed her bag on the ground and turned to Merlin brightly, suddenly gaping at him and flushing.

“Oh I’m sorry,” she apologised, looking down at the table and twisting her hands together. “I know I was pushy outside, but my friend called last minute to cancel so I was annoyed about that and now I just realised that I haven’t even introduced myself and…” she trailed off, clamping her mouth shut with a slight grin.

“Let me start again. I’m Gwen,” she said, smiling beautifully and openly, the first sign of something real that Merlin had seen in Camelot since he’d arrived.

“Merlin,” Merlin replied. Though it would have been simpler to use his alias, Gwen seemed like a nice person and a friend, had been willing to let someone get into a restaurant on her pay even though they were a stranger, and Merlin had never been brought up to be a liar. He’d just become one when he had to, when there was no other choice.

He remembered her reaction to the card flashing red and asked, conversationally, whether it happened a lot.

“It depends,” she began, pressing a button in the centre of the table and Merlin had to stop himself staring in amazement as two menus sprang into existence on the table, underneath what Merlin had simply assumed was wood. “It’s been happening more increasingly, mostly to Uniforms like yourself, and it’s generally just a glitch that will pass, but food’s an important matter and there were a few annoyed people behind me in the queue.”

That meant there was every chance his card simply had a glitch then, Merlin realised, and not that he’d been discovered. The weight on his chest lifted a little and he gave Gwen a real smile, scanning the menu in front of him and wondering what half of the things even were.

“It must be hard,” Gwen said, moving her fingers over the table in front of her, evidently searching through the menu. “Doing what you do and all,” she added.

Merlin wondered what she thought he did, as the general public surely couldn’t know the truth, so he nodded, humming non-committedly.

“It’s still work though and keeps me busy,” he forced a laugh, Gwen joining in a moment later.

“That’s true. But I hear the journey’s the killer.” She pressed something on the table and it made a ‘bloop’ noise. “I mean all that hard work reinforcing the Tower and then you have to sit in the shuttles for a good half hour?” Gwen shook her head, “Not for me!”

“It’s not too bad,” Merlin began, looking down at the menu and pressing the first thing that looked remotely edible. “Gives you time to think about things at least!”

There was a silence then, but not an uncomfortable one. Merlin thought that he was lucky to have met someone like Gwen, someone who was a little lonely and wanted company, could be pushy without harm and yet was reserved enough not to ask too many questions.

“So what do you do?” Merlin asked gently, hoping that it was an innocent question, one that Gwen would pick up and carry for a while, dodging away from Merlin entirely.

She brightened, thankfully. “I work in the royal household,” she said proudly and Merlin looked at her sharply.

“Oh don’t give me that look, why does everyone act like that?” She shook her head. “They don’t actually sit around all day doing nothing, contrary to popular belief. The King has input into the council sessions and works closely with the Magicians to protect the city.”

The table made a whizzing noise suddenly and Merlin pulled his arms up instantly, staring at it wildly and then looking at Gwen. She simply slid her hands off calmly, raising an eyebrow at Merlin’ antics, as if he was a complete idiot.

A moment later, Merlin knew that she had every right to look at him like that, as a plate of food was pushed up by a lever (or something, Merlin didn’t really know) and the table closed back, leaving his dinner there.

His stomach grumbled, but not because of any delicious scents wafting from the plate. It looked, in all honesty, like a mismatch of processed and blandly coloured food, but it was still food and that was what set Merlin’s stomach off.

Merlin took a bite, trying to keep control of himself and not wolf the whole thing down in one go. Gwen didn’t say anything, but Merlin knew that she had to think him a complete weirdo. He could cope, though, as long as she didn’t pry too much or become suspicious.

“So what kind of work do you do?” Merlin asked between mouthfuls of food, wondering if Gwen could get him to see the prince.

“I work for the Lady Morgana,” Gwen said and Merlin nodded, pretending he knew who she meant. “Officially I’m her assistant, but we’re friends so it’s not really like a job to me.”

Gwen frowned, her fork half-lifted to her mouth. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this,” she said quietly. “I just feel like I can trust you.”

Merlin nodded, looking down at his plate and taking another mouthful. In all honesty, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t feel like a particularly trustworthy person, but he wanted Gwen to like him and he could use her connections to check on Ygraine’s son and find his dragon.

“So,” Gwen said, “What’s work in the Tower like?” She’d finished her food now, Merlin having finished his a while ago, and the table whirred again, taking their plates away.

“I mean,” she continued, “You don’t look like one of the rough-tough types you usually see who are working on the construction.” She blushed suddenly, “I don’t mean… what I meant was maybe you’re an architect or something.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “I’m more of an overseer than an actual worker.”

Gwen seemed satisfied with the answer, nodding her head. An awkward silence passed between them before Gwen reached down for her bag, standing.

“I suppose...” she began, drifting off.

“Oh, right,” Merlin replied, standing up as well, realising that dinner was done.

There was no waiting around in the New World. You did something and then you moved on. Back in Ealdor, dinners had spanned sometimes over hours, people talking and laughing, and yet in Camelot, Merlin was sure this one hadn’t lasted even thirty minutes.

Gwen led them out of the restaurant, thanking Merlin and apologising again.

“It was Morgana, actually, who was supposed to meet me,” she said, giving a little chuckle. “She got held up though, a meeting with the king.”

Gwen frowned, turning to Merlin on the pavement and looking at him. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she said, again, with a shake of her head. “But… it’s like you’re important, whatever that means.”

Her frown deepened and she reached to smooth a crease in Merlin’s uniform, pressing down the fabric on his shoulder.

Merlin didn’t feel important, even though he had a destiny he needed to fulfil. He felt grubby, a stranger in an odd world and certainly someone who didn’t belong. He’d never considered the possibility that his magic would be able to facilitate his way through this world, but with what Gwen said, it was certainly something to consider.

In this world built entirely on magic, with magic running straight from the earth up to the tips of the buildings, it wasn’t a surprise that Merlin held some sway here. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel the sway of magic rolling through the ground, he could feel it responding to his own. It was possible that his magic could connect to the people around him, sway their views and opinions in the same way Gaius had mentioned how he’d saved himself and his mother.

Merlin didn’t like the fact that he could, potentially, be manipulating Gwen into liking him, but she held connections that would allow him to search for the dragon as well as being able to peek in on the prince.

“Where’s your house?” Gwen asked then, cutting into Merlin’s thoughts.

“Ah,” Merlin began, struggling for an answer. He bit his lip, an idea coming to him slowly. “Well in truth, I’m not officially moved in here.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up, before they drew back into a frown. “I’m sorry?” she asked, and Merlin smiled.

“I’m part of a new project we’re working on. I came from one of the other Sky Cities, Ealdor. It’s half an ocean away, really, and less up to date than Camelot, so a few of us were sent over.” He shrugged his shoulders, throwing a look at Gwen to judge whether or not she was buying it. More than anything she seemed curious, so he continued.

“I was living down in one of the barracks in the Tower, but my rota for this month has ended. They hadn’t sorted out where I was going to stay so I said I’d have a look around.” Merlin smiled again and felt nervousness bubble up when Gwen looked suspicious.

He didn’t want to use his magic more than it naturally seemed to work, but Merlin knew that if Gwen didn’t accept this then he’d have to. This wasn’t about what Merlin wanted anymore and he couldn’t pretend that he wouldn’t do whatever it took to save his mother and friends. He wasn’t the same person who had stepped onto a boat in Ealdor and he would do all that he could if it meant he could save the people he loved.

The suspicion faded on Gwen’s face, much to Merlin’s relief (he didn’t want to physically enchant her after all).

“Do you know anywhere I could stay?” he asked, turning to stare after someone as they bashed into his shoulder. They offered no apology and Merlin narrowed his eyes after the figure, but they were just another face of the New World.

“You could stay with me,” Gwen said quietly, colour rising on her cheeks. Merlin looked at her in surprise, honestly not suspecting anything like that. “I mean, if you were okay with moving in with a stranger… I don’t want to presume anything, but you look like you could use a friend.”

Suddenly it didn’t matter that his magic may have influenced their introductions and why Gwen had been so willing to pay for his dinner. He hadn’t expected Gwen to suggest he came back to her house, not even hoped for it, and knew that this was beyond his magic. Gwen was a genuinely nice person and she liked Merlin, wanted to help him.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice low.

He hadn’t realised it, but Merlin could use a friend. She didn’t have to know anything about destiny or magic, but Merlin could do with someone like Gwen. She was kind, comforting and Merlin needed someone to simply be there for him for a while.

“Of course,” she said with a frown. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

Gwen took Merlin’s arm, linking them together and pulling him to a walk.

“I know, I know I’m probably a bit odd if I take in random strangers I coerce into having dinner with me home and practically insist they stay,” she smiled. “But I like you Merlin. And I like helping people.”

She grimaced then and Merlin’s heart jumped in his chest. Had she already decided against it?

“Plus Morgana will be insufferable this evening. We share the apartment and she’ll be annoyed she missed dinner.” She gave Merlin a wicked glance, “But you can distract her. You look like you could use a bit of smartening up and I know Morgana would be happy to oversee that.”

Merlin wondered how bad he looked and ran a hand over his face. Stubble was showing on his jaw now and he grimaced as he felt bits of mud and bog caught between hairs. He knew he didn’t look good and, in all honesty, a smartening up sounded wonderful right about now.

Gwen and Morgana’s apartment was located in the inner circle of the city, or so Gwen informed him. What that really meant was that it was closer to the central castle, where the affairs of state were held and the king and sorcerers lived. Merlin had commented that it was odd for the king’s ward not to live in the castle, but Gwen had simply laughed.

“You want to try living with Uther and Nimueh in the same castle. Both Morgana and the prince moved out as soon as they could, feigning the fact they needed to learn independence. “

Merlin had chuckled with her at that, before looking around the area, taking in the slick outline of buildings and the glow of electric lights. It was clearly an exclusive area, but didn’t seem intimidating. And when they reached the apartment in question – built in a block, spanning the whole of the sixth floor – it felt homely and welcoming.

His first impression of Morgana was that she was fearsome. Though she was dressed in a simple t-shirt and comfortable trousers combo, she was a striking woman and Merlin instantly knew he didn’t want to get on her bad side.

“Oh Gwen,” she said as soon as they were through the door. “I’m so sorry, I tried to tell Uther I had plans, but he wouldn’t listen, you know what he’s like.” The latter statement was accompanied with an eye-roll, Morgana opening her mouth to say something else when she finally noticed Merlin.

“Gwen?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought we had rules about these things and you’d let me know if you needed a bit of peace.”

Morgana smirked and the penny dropped for Merlin. Gwen flushed, shaking her head as Merlin joined in, trying to compose a reply.

“It’s not like that,” Gwen said, still shaking her head. “Merlin’s going to be taking the spare room. He needed somewhere to stay – he’s on a project from another City – and I offered to take him in.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Morgana approached Merlin and looked him up and down.

“You don’t look like much,” she muttered before shooting a look at Gwen. “But Gwen likes you and I trust her judgement. Plus I reckon with a few meals under your belt you’d be in ship-shape to help at the smithy.”

Morgana nodded to Gwen, a proud smile on her face.

“Gwen oversees the local smithy. Specialises in trinket fixing herself, but keeps the boys who do the bigger things in line.” Gwen flushed at the statement, shaking her head a little, but Morgana was insistent. “They need a woman’s touch and that’s what Gwen gives them. Otherwise it’s all brawn and no brain.”

Merlin didn’t really know what to say to that, so he simply joined in the chuckle, looking around the apartment.

It was large, having taken up the whole sixth floor, and there was a spacious kitchen – state of the art appliances and sleek lines – a comfortable looking lounge area and a corridor leading, presumably, to the bedrooms and bathroom. It was a homely place, clearly New World and yet more, with personal touches of the people who lived there.

“Do you want a bath?” Gwen asked softly, Morgana moving to perch on the kitchen counter, watching them like a hawk.

Merlin hadn’t heard sweeter words in his life so he nodded, a smile widening on his face.

“Morgana has some clothes you can have and the towels are already in there. Feel free to use any products you need, we have far too many really.” Gwen looked to Morgana, who nodded and slid off the counter.

“There’s a razor too, in case you want to get rid of that mini-beard,” she said as she walked past, presumably to gather the aforementioned clothes.

The bathroom wasn’t much different from the ones he was useful, though it was obviously more modern. The faucets worked the same, the shower was pretty much the same, though the overall design was nicer and more sleek than Merlin was used to.

He filled the tub with hot water, rummaging through the cupboards like Gwen had suggested, to try and find something to scrub his hair with. Back on Ealdor they’d all simply put up with water and soap, but Merlin figured that he’d need the New World products to scrape the grime coating him.

Sinking into the water was bliss. It was the first time Merlin had ever had a bath like this, with little effort and plenty of hot water that was simply there. He moved to the collection of bottles he’d gathered, blinking past the slogans proclaiming them to solve all his stresses or detox his body completely, looking to see which ones were for his body and which ones for hair.

The bubbles in the water faded, leaving the bath full of murky, grey liquid and Merlin grimaced, scrubbing himself harder. When he was pink all over, free of mud and grime, he hopped out of the tub, wrapping one of the fluffy towels Gwen had left out around his body as he drained the bath.

He grimaced again as rings of dirt clung to the edge of the bath and Merlin flicked the shower on, hissing as the water ran out freezing cold down his arm. Once the bath was rinsed out, he hooked the shower head back up to the wall, hopping back in and drawing the curtain around the edge of the tub, moving to wash his hair.

When he was finished, Merlin climbed out of the shower again, standing in the middle of the room, almost lost. He moved to the sink and used the razor Morgana had mentioned to shave the stubble from his jaw, careful not to cut into his skin.

Once done, he splashed his face with water and took a step back, looking in the mirror above the sink. Merlin winced as he pushed the towel aside, eyes raking over his body. He was scrawnier than he had been in Ealdor, thinner too. Muscles that he’d built up from working on the Island had faded, bones more prominent.

He didn’t look too sickly, after all he’d fed relatively well with the druids, but Merlin knew wasn’t at a healthy weight, like so many other people below the Tower. He sighed, running a hand over his chest and poking down at his ribs. He then remembered his shoulder and looked, seeing the small scar left, perfectly healed and glistening against undamaged skin. Magic worked wonders, Merlin knew, and if it could heal something this small, then he’d make it heal the damage Nimueh had done.

“Merlin?” a voice called through the door. “I have some pyjamas for you. They’re men’s,” Gwen added and Merlin didn’t really want to think about who might have left them here. He knew enough about Morgana by now to know that she wasn’t held back by propriety, like one would think for someone of the royal family.

He opened the door a little, glad that Gwen hadn’t opted for electronical doors (he probably would have opened the door starkers by accident) as a hand shoved the pyjamas through the crack. Merlin took them, thanking Gwen, and quickly shucked the on, making sure he was dry.

They were a little big on him, at least the shirt was. The trousers stopped at his ankles, Merlin evidently being taller than their previous owner, but they hung off his waist slightly. He tied the drawstrings in a bow, rubbing the towel through his hair once more and digging the Obsidian out of his pocket, tucking it into the waistband of the pyjamas, making sure it would stay there.

He left the bathroom then, putting all of his clothes into the basket Gwen had left out and wandering into the kitchen.

True to their words, Morgana and Gwen had made him a mug of hot chocolate. He sipped at it gingerly, remembering the stale bars of chocolate that he and Will had once found in the wreckage of a boat. It hadn’t been particularly tasty, but it had been old. This chocolate was brand new and the smell was unlike anything Merlin had experienced and, when he sipped it, it was delicious and warming.

“Thank you,” he said to Gwen, following Morgana over to the sitting area. She flicked on the box in the corner – a television, Merlin realised – and flicked through some of the channels, flicking it off soon after.

“Nothing’s worth watching at this time,” she said, rolling her eyes and tilting her head back to look at Merlin. “Mid-week, everyone’s working after all.”

Merlin nodded, pretending that he understood what she meant. He looked around the room and almost choked on a sip of his drink when he spotted a sleek, black object on one of the tables. It looked almost identical to his stone, aside from the fact that it was larger and looked easy to hold.

“The stone,” Morgana said. “Exclusive to Camelot apparently, but it works just like a phone. They were designed to imitate the Obsidian Stones and, allegedly, they all contain a small fleck of the original stones.”

Morgana’s face contorted into something ugly. “A fact which I made clear I did not approve of. Uther wouldn’t listen to any of us though and was intent on chipping down all the Obsidians in the queen’s garden.”

A sad look crossed Morgana’s face for a moment, but it was gone a moment later and replaced by the fierceness Merlin was used to seeing.

“Uther never really listens, not even to his own son,” she commented softly, and Merlin wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to hear that.

After the chocolate, and listening to Morgana and Gwen talking about anything and everything, Merlin was shown his bedroom. It was a modest room, comforting and with a decent sized bed. Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept on a bed and he tried not to run over and fling himself into the pillows.

“Help yourself to anything in the night,” Gwen said, poking her head through the door. “Morgana’s going to root out some old clothes for you, don’t ask where they came from,” she hastily added on the end. “It’s probably better you don’t know.”

Merlin didn’t want to think about that too much and simply bid Gwen a goodnight, falling back onto the bed as the door shut. He was grateful to have found Gwen and Morgana, two people who were kind and open to him. He knew this went far beyond anything his magic could have created and he realised that the people in the Sky Cities weren’t as ignorant or blind as he’d thought.

It was clear Morgana disagreed on a lot of things when it concerned Uther, such as the destruction of the Stones, and Gwen would follow her views anywhere, for the most part. They may be a minority, but Morgana would fight for her cause until the death if she had to. If she knew about what was going on below the Tower, she would wage a war by herself.

Merlin sighed, thinking back to the offhanded comment Morgana had made about the Stones and Ygraine’s garden. He’d have to ask her more about that, find out if she knew who could access the garden, or maybe who would think to go to the ruined Stone circle for peace.

The pillows were welcoming and Merlin had barely slipped his Obsidian from the waistband of his pyjamas before sleep started to creep in. He crawled under the duvet, sighing at the comfort that enveloped him, and fell asleep, the Stone clutched in his hand.

**.**

A week passed in a blur of seeing the sights of Camelot and getting to know Gwen and Morgana. When they were gone in the day, up to the castle for official business or to Gwen’s family workshop to make Old World trinkets, Merlin would walk around Camelot, searching for anything that could link him to the dragon and getting to know what the City ran on.

There were two systems, Merlin had discovered. There was the electrical system, all wires and energy stores, everything moving down, down, down and connecting to the Stone circle. When Merlin tried to feel it, all he could get was a humming buzz, something ugly and unnatural. It worked, well in fact, for the people of the City, but it wasn’t sustainable.

The second system, the older one, was for the magic. It was shoddily built, which made sense for the sorcerers of the past, the ones who had to pour their magic hurriedly into the Towers before the Ocean had risen. But these pathways contained so much more potential; Merlin could feel it, except the magic inside of them was twisted.

Of course it would be twisted, Merlin had realised. It was being forced out of people, stolen from those of no power and warped by the dragon’s magic. It wasn’t given with love or care that the original magic had been and it was because of this that Camelot was falling. You couldn’t sustain a kingdom on force alone and expect it to last forever.

Merlin had tried experimenting with a pathway, a small one inside of Gwen’s home. As with all the other magic channels, it was wrapped around an electrical one, but the two powers hadn’t fused as the sorcerers must have hoped. It wasn’t something that would occur naturally, at least not with the way the magic was in.

But Merlin managed to change it, summoning his power and pouring it directly into the electric cable. Unlike the magic pathway, you could see the cables with your own eyes and Merlin felt the change instantly.

The electricity ran smoother, bolstered by the pure magic. Merlin could tell without testing that the electricity he had just altered would last for a longer time and ideas began to creep inside of his head. Could it be done to the entire city? Merlin didn’t know, but he swore to find out, wondering if he finally had a solution to at least some of the problem.

It was after a week of this routine, with Merlin wandering around the huge city, cataloguing the people and the places, searching equally for his dragon and the crest of the prince, that Merlin wondered if he should just ask Morgana to find him work in the castle. While the crest was everywhere (literally everywhere), it meant little other than branding the Pendragon family across the New World.

He’d returned home that night – yes, Gwen’s apartment had become a home – to see Morgana and Gwen already home, evidently having finished up at the castle earlier.

“Merlin,” Morgana greeted warmly.

To begin with, their relationship had been somewhat rocky. Morgana hadn’t trusted him, Merlin knew that, and he wondered if she had magic of her own. That would have had an impact on how Merlin’s magic influenced those around him, a person’s own magic cutting off any sway his might have held. Morgana had grown to like him though, saying that he was an odd one, yet there was something she trusted in him, and Merlin had smiled, relieved that he hadn’t had to fool his way into all of his new friendships.

“We’re going out tonight,” she said brightly, clearly excited at the prospect.

Merlin looked over at Gwen. He hadn’t realised there was anywhere to go, other than general restaurants and bars, none of which had inspired this much excitement in Morgana before.

“To the Isle,” Morgana confirmed, and Gwen nodded her head a little.

At Merlin’s blank look, she continued, “The Isle of the Blessed, the hottest club this side of the Ocean.”

She shot Merlin an incredulous look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it? I knew you weren’t down with popular culture and all, but this is the Isle. The place where you can forget everything, even that you’re human.”

At her words, Merlin felt an odd emotion rise in him. Why would anyone want to forget that they were human when they’d all accomplished so much? They had built a Tower to live on, spread across the skies in ways they never should have been able to, simply because they had harnessed magic and bent its will to fit the needs of the human population. And yes, it was a terrible thing, but it was amazingly resourceful and clever.

Why would anyone want to forget about that?

“It’s the place to be,” Morgana stressed again, shaking her head at Merlin. “Where, just for that night, you don’t have to have the world snapping at your heels and you can forget all your worries.”

Merlin looked at her this time. Morgana’s eyes were bright and wide, excited as she was, and Merlin knew that this was a battle he’d never win. Evidently Gwen hadn’t been lying when she’d told him that whatever Morgana wanted, Morgana got.

Thinking about it, in all honesty, wouldn’t one night to himself be good? He’d only been in Camelot for a few days and already Merlin had been subject to a completely new and different world that it would be nice just to relax and forget it all. Surely he could afford to forget about his destiny just for one night? Nothing life-changing would happen in one night, after all.

“I don’t have any clothes,” he said weakly, knowing that Gwen and Morgana would find something. And they did, in record time, and Merlin was only slightly ashamed to say that the jeans clearly belonged to Morgana, being as skinny and malnourished as he was.

The journey to the club was uneventful, Gwen hailing one of the light-weight, track-free shuttles that served as taxis, and the three of them climbing in. Morgana fired off the directions and they were off, oddly sober and Merlin with a clear head.

In all the books he’d read, and the magazines for that matter, you were supposed to be tumbling out of clubs, swaying under the influence of alcohol. There hadn’t been a drop yet, even though the Isle was supposed to make you forget. Perhaps it was just some New World thing.

He found out, after they’d been ushered into the club, skipping the long queue thanks to Morgana, that it was a New World thing. In fact, the bouncers at the doors refused entry to anyone who had been drinking, sending them off with a roll of the eye.

Morgana led them down the wide stairs, Gwen and Merlin in tow. At the foot of the stairs lay a wide foyer area, strangely clean and prim for a club. Off of that, there were two doors, one bigger than the other and clearly the door to the rest of the club, while the other was smaller and manned by someone in a glowing, neon-coloured shirt.

They were let in to the manned door, the guard bowing his head when he took in Morgana’s fearsome presence. Merlin gave the man a side look, wondering why they were headed away from the club and into an obviously secret room.

As if reading his thoughts, Morgana turned to Merlin as they stood in a darkened room. “This is where you come to forget,” she said, casting her hands up and out, showing the room to Merlin.

It was an impressive room, with swirling wallpaper. Someone clapped their hands and the swirls lit up, twinkling with electricity and… Merlin did a double take. The walls weren’t just twinkling with electricity, magic was flowing freely in the swirls, more powerful than Merlin had seen in Camelot.

He could feel his own magic responding, welcomingly and as if it wanted to pull the magic from the walls. A tendril snaked out to curl around Merlin curiously and he tried to show no reaction, even when he realised that this was unlike any magic he’d felt before. It felt twisted, but not in a bad way.

The magic brushed against Merlin’s own and he suddenly realised why Morgana wanted to come here of all places. He tried not to look at her, not to give himself away, but risked a small glance and his suspicions were confirmed in the curl of Morgana’s lips and her half-lidded eyes.

The kick that the Isle of the Blessed provided, first and foremost, was to cater to those with magic. Somehow the people who had designed the club had added something – a drug perhaps, an emotion maybe, Merlin didn’t understand – into the magic that fortified the building. The magic reacted with each person’s own, passing on the pleasurable feeling, one more powerful than any drug could provide.

Morgana had magic. However latent or powerful it might be, she still possessed some, and so was able to get a high greater than she would otherwise.

“The Lady Morgana,” a voice said, from the back of the room. A blonde haired woman stepped forwards, warm smile on her face as she wrapped her arms around Morgana. “It’s been too long since I saw you last, how are you?”

As Morgana spoke to the woman, evidently a friend, Merlin turned to look at Gwen and noticed that she was beginning to fall under the spell of the magic too, a soft smile on her lips and a slight glassy quality to her eyes.

“We’ll go into the main area soon, Morgana just wanted to see how Morgause was,” Merlin was informed and was glad to see, at least, that Gwen hadn’t begun slurring her words.

“I see you’ve brought a friend,” Morgana’s friend – Morgause – said and Merlin looked at her, automatically wary in the same way he’d been of Morgana at first.

“I’m Merlin,” he introduced, though he didn’t hold out a hand. His magic was practically bubbling under his skin and he didn’t want to risk anyone realising is power.

“Your first night is free,” Morgause said, smiling. “You have the full range of potions and cures to sample, take advantage of the fact you’re Morgana’s friend.”

She turned her attention away from Merlin again and whispered something in Morgana’s ear, drawing a roll of the eyes and a sigh from the woman.

“Enjoy your evening,” Morgause said as they left the room, Gwen linking her arm with Morganas as they stepped ahead, tottering slightly on their heels as they all crossed the space between the doors.

The first thing that Merlin thought as the doors open was that all the magazines and books had been right. There were people everywhere, crammed into the room and in every space imaginable. Music pounded through the room and the doors closed silently behind them, blocking off the real world and reality.

Magic swirled lazily in the air, dancing through the crowd and brushing against the people throwing their hands up or grinding together. There was nothing beautiful about this kind of magic, at least not in an aesthetic sense, but it allowed everyone in the room freedom and a chance to forget their mundane lives slogging away for a stale world that was never really going anywhere.

Morgana led them to the bar first, gesturing to Gwen and Merlin before drinks were slid towards them.

He had a choice now, Merlin realised. He could say no, watch and fight off the sway of the magic around him or he could say yes. If he said yes, then for one night he could just be Merlin of Camelot, another subject to the king who knew nothing about the terrible travesties that were being committed. For one night he didn’t have to think about the weight placed upon his shoulders as Emrys and, as barbaric as it sounded, he didn’t have anyone waiting for him.

In the morning he’d return to saving the people he loved, but Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something for himself. One night wouldn’t be so terrible, would it, so Merlin took the drink, downing it alongside Gwen and Morgana.

The night blurred on, so fast and so slow at the same time. Drinks were free flowing and fast and Merlin was almost certain at one point there had been pills, but he didn’t care. His magic was racing inside of him, shooting around like bird in the sky, and it felt so good, he felt so good that nothing else mattered.

He was happy. Genuinely happy, with people who he could call friends and enjoying himself.

The music changed again and the people around him rose in cheers at an apparently familiar tune, bobbing their heads and swaying shoulders to the music, drinks splashing down Merlin’s front as he stumbled to the bar, waving for the next round for Morgana and himself. Gwen had said no this time, so Merlin returned to the floor with a drink in either hand, blinking as he tried to locate Morgana.

Merlin eventually found her, wrapped up against someone and kissing them soundly, so he backed off with a wolfish grin. Good for her, he thought, as Morgana was the kind of person who would seize her chance when she could. And in the morning? Well it didn’t matter did it? This was the time to forget who they were and wash away the troubles of their normal lives. They’d simply put this night in the past in the morning and move on.

As Merlin turned, with the intention to find Gwen and shout with her about Morgana hooking up, his hand jerked against something, sploshing one of the drinks over someone’s leg.

“Oi,” a voice said and Merlin looked at the man with wide eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, half-wailing, “Really, really sorry. I mean… how did that happen?” Merlin stared at the empty drink in his hands, then remembered he had another one in the other.

“Here,” he shoved the drink at the man, this time not spilling it. “To say sorry,” he slurred slightly, letting out a huff of laugh.

In a surprising turn, the man reached for Merlin’s drink with an accompanying laugh, his other hand taking the empty from Merlin and throwing it on the floor.

“It’s fine,” he whispered and Merlin looked at him. He was all blonde hair and blue eyes, confident swagger and yet there was something behind all of that, something that made Merlin want to pull him closer and make him spill all of his secrets.

His magic apparently agreed, for it sizzled under his skin. The man was still holding Merlin’s fingers between his own in their empty hands, and Merlin hadn’t let go of the drink yet, and those points of touch were the only comfortable places over his whole body.

As a final push, Merlin remembered Morgana’s resolve and how tonight wasn’t his chance to be Merlin from across the ocean, but to be Merlin of Camelot. He was a brand new person and if this brand new person was drawn to someone then he was going to go with it, especially considering the way his magic reacted.

“I’m Merlin,” he said, moving against the man to say it in his ear. The blonde stiffened as Merlin pressed against him, before he tilted his head back, raking his eyes over Merlin’s face before breaking into a smile.

“Arthur,” he replied, against the shell of Merlin’s ear. “And I probably shouldn’t have another drink, considering the amount I’ve had tonight.”

Merlin smiled and then the drink was gone from his hands and Arthur had his head tilted back, throat exposed. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, just before he passed the drink back to Merlin, showing that he’d only drunken half of it.

“What do you say?” Arthur asked as Merlin took the cup, draining the rest of the drink. It burnt down his throat, but he held Arthur’s stare, challenging him.

The kiss tasted of alcohol and hurt, burning into Merlin as Arthur seized his lips. There was a moment of pause before Merlin dropped the cup on the floor, not caring that it would soon be thousands of plastic shards under the dance floor’s feet, and moved his hands to grip tightly to Arthur, daring him to stop.

It would be a lie to say Merlin was experienced, but he was hardly innocent. Before he’d realised he’d preferred men, there had been a few kisses and uncertain touches with the girls in the village. And then he had realised he preferred men and there had been that one time, when Will had found an old bottle of whiskey under a floorboard, that Will said he was curious and they’d clumsily jacked each other off… but this was different.

Merlin had never been kissed like this, with strength and passion, even though they were both shit-faced and well on their way to passing out. Arthur made Merlin’s magic tingle violently, until the only way he could tamper down the sensation was to shove a knee between Arthur’s legs and try to feel every inch of the man, kissing him harder.

“Do you want to,” Arthur began, breaking their kiss before ducking back in, as drawn to Merlin as Merlin was to him. “Come back to mine?”

He should say no, should turn around and find Gwen and make her take him out of the Isle, or maybe grab Morgana and tell her they had to go… but Merlin did none of these things. His magic hummed inside of his chest, almost making the decision for him, and he tilted his head back, looking at Arthur with half-lidded eyes and smiled.

“Sure,” he agreed, wanting Arthur more than anything he’d ever wanted and feeling as though this was right somehow, as though something was falling into place.

They left then, Merlin wrapped against Arthur, kissing his neck and lapping at his collarbone as they walked out of the club. The air wasn’t cool, wasn’t natural, but Merlin paid no mind, because Arthur’s hand was snaking under his shirt and his fingers were sparking off his magic with every touch.

He didn’t notice the part of the city they went to, only that it was in a slightly different direction to Gwen’s house. He didn’t notice what Arthur’s place looked like, simply hauling the man against one of the walls as he fumbled for his keys, kissing him without regret.

When they finally got inside, Arthur led them to the sofa, pushing Merlin back until they both fell, Arthur grinning above him as if his birthday had come early.

They didn’t say much, but there wasn’t a lot that needed to be said. Their hands did most of the talking, and the rest was matched by moans and breathy kisses, intensifying as soon as Arthur freed their erections, rutting against Merlin like a teenager just breaking into his puberty stride.

For a moment it scared Merlin what he could reduce Arthur to, but then their cocks brushed and Merlin didn’t need to think anymore, simply lying back and kissing Arthur again, cupping his hand over their cocks and rubbing.

Soon after that, the night took them both and they collapsed on the sofa, dead to the world.

**.**

Merlin woke painfully. His head was pounding, his throat was sore and his whole body felt cramped, as if something had been piled on top of it the whole night. He shifted uncomfortably, a little unnerved when he could feel his dick pressed against something warm, and he opened his eyes, heart speeding up as he took in the sleeping figure he’d clearly followed home last night.

“Shit,” he whispered, realising that they’d both passed out after a quick release, only just making it through that too, remembering what had happened last night with astounding clarity. “Shit,” he repeated, shifting his legs until Arthur - that was his name, Arthur - was shuffled off and Merlin kneeled on the ground, zipping up the ridiculously tight trousers Morgana had given him.

Merlin didn’t even want to think about what he looked like, but he smelt of alcohol and knew that there was some down his shirt. The likelihood that he would see Arthur again was slim, so Merlin felt only a little bit of shame when raiding through the man’s cupboard.

He pulled out a handful of shirts from one of the bottom drawers, certain that they wouldn’t be missed, and slipped one on. It was plain, red, and was a tad too big for Merlin, but he didn’t care. Right now he just needed to get out and away, which was exactly what he did.

Despite never having been to this part of the city, almost at the Castle gates so whoever he was Arthur had to be rich to afford a place like that, Merlin was able to find his way back to Gwen’s and thanked whatever gods that might exist when he discovered the door was unlocked.

No one was up so Merlin went happily to his room, content to sleep off the rest of the pain and do nothing. Morgana had clearly lied when she’d said it would be one night of forgetting, because all Merlin wanted to do now was just that; forget and sleep.

The second time Merlin woke, he rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, trying to patch his life together. He remembered everything a moment later and sighed, wondering what Arthur had gone to the Isle for. He remembered Morgana saying that no one went there just for a good time, that they all had things they wanted to run from, but what would someone like Arthur have to fear?

He skilfully didn’t think about what they’d done and was simply only thankful that they’d been too pissed to take it further, to do something they’d both really regret.

When Merlin realised that he couldn’t hide away anymore, and he could hear someone moving about the house, he rolled out of bed, poking his head out of the door and wandering down the corridor.

Gwen jumped as Merlin entered the kitchen, wheeling around with a spoon in her hand, laughing when she realised who it was.

“I didn’t hear you come in!” she said, rushing to his side. “You didn’t… bring him here did you?”

Merlin raised an eyebrow before shaking his head. “No, I snuck in this morning.” He paused, considering her words. “I didn’t make a spectacle of myself did I?” It was, after all, entirely possible that he’d fucked Arthur on the dance floor and instigated a mass-orgy, only to have blocked it from his mind entirely. Of course Merlin didn’t really think that, but there was always a possibility.

“Morgana hasn’t come home yet, but she did leave a message on the Stone,” Gwen said with a grin. “She enjoyed herself a lot last night.”

Unable to supress a laugh, and yet knowing it would be his turn in a moment, Merlin gave in and chuckled, shaking his head at Morgana’s antics. He hadn’t known her for long, but Merlin already knew that last night had been a perfectly Morgana thing to do.

“So,” Gwen said with a smirk and she tapped Merlin’s shoulder with the spoon. “Tell me all about it, you sly dog.”

Merlin shrugged. “We didn’t really do anything,” he mumbled. “Do you know how much I had to drink? A lot; I can still feel the ache in my head.”

He was digressing here, but he wanted to keep Arthur to himself. Just for a little while longer, remember what it was like to be wrapped against him and to feel so comfortable, both in body and magic.

“Oh, details!” Gwen admonished, whacking him again lightly. “Not everyone gets Arthur to fall head over heels in such a magnificent fashion. In fact I haven’t seen Arthur with anyone for ages, and not from lack of trying on everyone else’s behalf.”

Merlin joined in her laughter before the words sunk in and he frowned.

“You know Arthur?” he asked hesitantly, freezing in his place.

Gwen laughed again, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose. “Of course I know Arthur,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And I know you’re not really up to date with everything, but how can you not have heard of Arthur Pendragon?”

The name dug its claws into Merlin’s mind, but he brushed it off, not really wanting to think that deeply for the state he was in.

“If you weren’t so adorable,” Gwen began, but her smile fell and a frown worried her brow. “Did you literally high-tail it out of his house last night?” she asked, pointing to Merlin’s chest.

“What?” he asked in return, looking down worriedly.

“Your top,” Gwen said, “It’s inside out. Here,” she commented, placing the wooden spoon down on the counter and gesturing for Merlin to list his arms. He obeyed (Gwen was, after all, the best cook and he was starting to get hungry) and she pulled the top off, turning it the right way and dressing him again.

“Oh Merlin,” she said, shaking her head. “You couldn’t have chosen a less obvious shirt could you?”

Gwen picked up her spoon again and jammed it into the left side of Merlin’s chest, covering a small logo.

“Though I suppose if I managed to snag the prince, I would have wanted a trophy to remember the night,” she commented lightly, turning away and missing Merlin’s reaction.

His fingers pulled the fabric away from his chest, staring at the tiny, gold dragon emblem. Merlin’s eyes widened and he began shaking his head, looking up, horrified, to meet Gwen’s amused face.

“Oh don’t be so shocked,” Gwen said. “Everyone knows that Arthur likes to go to the Isle, we’re all just surprised he took off before the club closed and with someone.”

“Excuse me,” Merlin rushed out, walking hurriedly back to his room. Thankfully Gwen didn’t follow him, clearly getting the hint that Merlin really couldn’t deal with this right now, so Merlin was left to his own devices.

He fumbled through the other few shirts he had taken from Arthur – stupidly thinking that he wouldn’t miss the tops, that they wouldn’t be fucking emblazoned with the mark of the crown – and took in identical little dragons, looking up at him merrily, as though they hadn’t just changed his entire world.

Merlin slumped on the floor, back resting against his bed as he gripped the clothes in his hand. How the hell had he gotten into this mess?

On the plus side, though, Merlin knew that Ygraine’s son was alright. Despite the fact that they’d come far too close to shagging each other, Arthur seemed like a good person. Well, as good as a person could be when they were known to frequent a club like the Isle.

He heard the front door open and Morgana enter with a loud call, laughter filling the apartment a moment later. Merlin listened as she began talking animatedly, clearly recounting her last night’s antics with Gwen, when the stone hit his stomach.

Morgana was the king’s ward. She, by default, would know Arthur.

“Shit,” Merlin whispered, clutching the fabric in his hands. He hadn’t changed out of the shirt, but he didn’t see much point when it was, admittedly, a perfectly good t-shirt and he didn’t have any. It was bad enough living off of Morgana and Gwen’s charity, and for a wonderful moment, Merlin had thought he could claim the clothes as his own.

Gwen had probably told Morgana about Merlin’s own escapades last night and going out there with this top on would only strengthen the story… but the truth was, Merlin liked the shirt. It might not quite fit him, but it was a connection to Ygraine, through her son and the child she had loved. And if Merlin wanted to wear that, then why shouldn’t he? He was, after all, going to bring the City to its knees and, one way or another, his and Arthur’s paths would cross once again.

“Merlin!” a voice called sharply, and Merlin knew that trying to hide from Morgana was pointless. She was worse than the dogs had been on Ealdor, sniffing out any scrap of washed up food that they could. If Merlin didn’t go out, she’d simply come in.

He stood, still in his Pendragon crested shirt, and walked into the lounge.

“There he is,” Morgana began, barely managing to hide the glee in her voice. “And still wearing that shirt too!”

She stood up from where she’d been sitting on one of the sofa’s, padding to Merlin’s side and looking much better than she had right to for someone who had been through exactly the same as Merlin last night. He knew he looked (and felt) awful… perhaps it was a woman thing, or maybe just a Morgana thing.

“It’s comfortable,” Merlin said with a frown, trying to ignore the looks Gwen and Morgana shared. “And I don’t want to talk about it,” he carried on, moving to the kitchen to fetch a drink.

“Oh come on,” Morgana said, “We could make you pay rent, you know.”

Merlin turned to her, knowing it was an empty threat, but feeling a shudder all the same. He’d lied about his job, lied about his identity, to get into their lives. If they ever found out that he had lied, ever wanted him to pay with the money he was supposed to have earned from his job…

“Fine,” he muttered. Might as well bite the bullet, he supposed, and get it over and done with.

“Arthur hasn’t taken anyone back to his place for months now,” Morgana began and Merlin felt an odd thrill creep into his chest. Arthur had asked him to come back, even after Merlin had spilt a drink down him. He’d asked for Merlin and Merlin had said yes.

“So what I want to know is how you managed to snag him.” She raised an eyebrow before tugging him down onto the sofa, looking up at Gwen to join them.

“I split a drink down him?” Merlin said, more a question than a fact. “And then he just… asked.”

It drew dubious looks from the girls, but Merlin really didn’t know how else to put it.

“It just happened. Though we didn’t do much, ended up passing out,” he admitted, blindly hoping that they’d give up now he’d admitted that nothing really happened.

“Yes,” Morgana said, “But it’s still something.”

She stretched her legs out across the sofa, heels resting on Merlin’s thigh. Gwen left for a moment and there was a clatter in the kitchen, before she returned with two plates, laden with the New World version of eggs and bacon. It didn’t taste the same as it had back on Ealdor, but Merlin doubted that they used real chickens and eggs here. It was still food and still cooked by Gwen, and that made it more than edible in Merlin’s book.

Gwen sat down a moment later with her own plate, looking at Merlin from across the coffee table.

“Are you going to see him again?” she asked around a mouthful of scrambled egg.

Shaking his head, Merlin said, “Why would I do that? I snuck out at arse o’clock in the morning. I don’t want to see him again.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but if he admitted that to them, the girls would most likely harp on about true love just to annoy him.

Ever since he had met Arthur, he had felt a tug between them. It had been dulled with alcohol and the foreign magic last night, but it was what had made Merlin leave the Isle without a second thought. His magic liked Arthur, for some reason, and if he focused hard enough, Merlin could still feel the thread of connection, small as it was.

“I could always just ask Arthur about it tomorrow. He’s bound to be at Court, probably still asleep right now,” Morgana said to Gwen, glancing at Merlin for a reaction.

Letting Arthur know that Morgana knew him would be terrible, Merlin realised. Not only had he snuck off without so much as a ‘thank you’ (did you say thank you in these situations? Merlin was hardly up to date on one night stand culture), but he’d stolen a few of his clothes. It was probably a criminal offence to steal from the prince, let alone get himself noticed by the Court itself.

It was, in every essence, a very bad move.

“Alright, alright, what do you want to know?” Merlin finally gave in, voice defeated.

Morgana smirked triumphantly.

“We just want to know why he chose you, is all,” she began, placing her empty plate on the table and licking her lips. “Arthur’s always had a type and you’re a far cry from anyone who’s ever caught his eye.”

She frowned with the next words, “I never even knew he liked men. Suspected it perhaps, but never had conclusive evidence.”

Merlin wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he decided to remain silent. Morgana searched his face, but she couldn’t find whatever it was she was looking for and turned away shortly after, shaking her head a little.

After that, Merlin and Morgana retreated to the bedroom while Gwen curled up on the sofa, watching the television screen and fiddling with some jewellery designs.

Merlin had asked her what they were for and she’d explained that she sometimes worked in the smithy her father had developed and wanted to make them one day. Some of the pieces had already been made, and most of the metalwork in the house had originated from Gwen’s smithy, be it at her hand or someone else’s.

It was a few days later, after keeping his head down and slinking around Camelot, that Merlin’s thoughts turned to the drawings on Gwen’s computer screens. He’d spent the days locating areas that he could feel were draining the magic and electricity more than everywhere else and fixing them, pushing his magic in until everything connected, flowing softer and more powerful. It was taxing work, but Merlin had to begin somewhere.

He’d seen a necklace design, simple, but the stone attached reminded him of an Obsidian. It was a little rounder and shorter than his own, but it had given Merlin an idea.

So far, he’d managed to keep the Obsidian with him at all times. It had been difficult and there had been multiple moments of blind panic where he’d thought he’d lost the stone. Looking at this necklace design though, Merlin had an idea.

“Gwen?” he asked later. Morgana was up at the castle for the night (apparently an important banquet in honour of the sorcerers was being held), but Gwen hadn’t been needed so come home early.

She looked up from where she’d been sketching designs. The glare of the screen lit up her face, showing Merlin how tired she was after a hard day’s work, and he knew that she enjoyed the crafting work more than anything.

“I was wondering if you’d be able to make me something,” Merlin began, taking a seat at the kitchen counter beside her.

“You see, I have this stone,” he pulled the Obsidian from his pocket, laying it on the table. “I found it ages ago, back when I was doing placement on a small Island. It just washed up one day and I keep it as a memory of the place.”

The stone looked even darker than usual against the pale kitchen surface and Merlin was frightful for a moment that Gwen would see it for what it was. When Merlin glanced at her, he realised that she wasn’t even looking at the Stone, instead fixed on his face.

“I saw a sketch of something you’d made before,” he admitted, but Gwen only smiled, nodding her head and urging him to carry on. “And I was wondering if you’d do the same for this.”

Gwen picked up the Stone, running her hand over expertly, feeling for grooves or bumps. She wouldn’t find any, not even Merlin clutching at it had worn down the surface.

“A necklace?” she asked softly, shooting a glance in Merlin’s direction. He nodded. “It should be easy,” she continued. “If we left now, I could probably find a good fixture and attach it on. I have more chains than I know what to do with do you can take your pick.”

Without waiting for Merlin to agree, Gwen rose, flicking the screen of her computer down and passing the Stone to Merlin.

“It’s only a short shuttle journey,” she said, and Merlin found out that she was right.

Gwen’s smithy wasn’t at all like Merlin had expected. It was at the bottom of an oblong-shaped building, spanning across the bottom floor. The interior was simple and, of all things, white, completely unlike the make-shift smithy back on Ealdor. That had been where they’d melted down metals and re-forged them, but it appeared that smithies weren’t quite the same in Camelot.

Of course, Merlin should have known that there were no fires or billowing smoke. Everything was controlled by micro-technology, creating seamless objects and smoothing any imperfections.

Instead of moving to a dirtied workbench, Gwen’s place of work was a smooth, clean bench. It was almost pristine even, hardly something that could be called a work space. Yet Gwen moved to a cupboard at the side, taking out an odd, box-shaped device and flipping it open.

“I’ll be using the small lasers to fix the clasp,” Gwen said. There was a eyepiece on the device that overlooked the space for putting down the object you were working on, and above that a moveable pen-like object that was, apparently, a laser.

Merlin suddenly wondered if the laser could harm his magic at all. He couldn’t feel any magic in the object itself and wondered whether it would throw off the natural balance. While he hadn’t been able to get inside the stone since he’d been in Camelot, it was still Merlin’s only link to his dragon and, without it, a little more of his past was lost.

When he called it to flow over the stone, settle on top and protect it, his magic responded sluggishly. Merlin knew why, had seen enough out on the streets to know that it was because this place was so New, so alien and far from the natural magic that his own was cut off. And Merlin had learnt enough by now to know that a lesser sorcerer wouldn’t have been able to drag up half the amount he laid into the Stone.

While he selected a chain, Gwen set to work with her little contraption and the stone, fixing a clasp at the top that the chain would thread through. At least there were still old things such as jewellery, made from metal that had been dug from the old earth and still had the smallest trace of magic. Merlin had felt it when he’d looked through the selection of chains, and he’d selected the newest he could, one of the ones with the least amount of magic.

The Stone was powerful enough and attuned to Merlin now, but introducing another source could prove to damage the Obsidian’s properties. That was one of the many lessons Gaius had taught him, that some magic wasn’t always compatible with other forms of magic, and forcing them together would result in more harm than good. Merlin wasn’t going to risk the Stone to see if it applied here.

A moment later, Gwen had finished tinkering with the pen and the Obsidian, and she flicked something at the side of the machine, a light coming on so she could inspect her work fully. The chain that had been lying next to her was picked up and she threaded the Stone onto it, bringing the necklace up to inspect the overall product.

“That should do it,” she said, fingering the long chain. She passed it over to Merlin and he took it gratefully, amazed at how the clasp seemed melded to the Stone, as if they’d never been two different objects.

It was on a whole other level to any craftsmanship he’d seen on Ealdor, and for all their similarities (because the Old World still had seeped into the New one, be if from books and stories that had rebuilt appliances or the shuttles to the simple holographic trees that lined the pavement), this was completely new and different. And, he had to admit, this craftsmanship was far better than anything Ealdor had been able to produce.

“Almost identical to the one I made before,” Gwen said off-handedly, shrugging her shoulders and completely unaware of the effect the words had on Merlin.

The design that Merlin had seen before, he realised, hadn’t just been a stone at all. It, too, had been an Obsidian, and someone else had asked for it to be made where they could never lose it.

Gwen began to tidy up, packing away the laser device and putting it away. Merlin was staring at the Stone in his hand, trying to look into the depths and force it to reveal where its sibling was, who owned it.

There was only one person to whom the other Stone could belong. Merlin would have been able to see who else held an Obsidian in the link when he’d been inside, but there had only been one. His dragon had asked Gwen to make the necklace, Gwen knew his dragon, and Merlin’s heart rose in his throat, his magic bubbling to the surface and threatening to burst out.

“The one you made before?” he asked, keeping his voice casual and trying not to sound too curious.

Gwen had been brilliant. She’d taken him in when he’d had nothing, given him clothes and a roof over his head, and never once questioned the stories Merlin had fed her. He felt guilty, but the guilt was washed away when he thought about the people in comatose states below, trapped in a pointless life and all because they had a hint of magic. Merlin had to do this for them, not make friends for himself.

So he had to use Gwen again. He had to use her to track down the dragon, and then he could get out of her life and do what he was supposed to. It didn’t matter if he missed them, Merlin knew he was no good for her or Morgana.

“It was probably the one you looked at,” she said, glancing over at him with a smile. “But Arthur’s was one of the Stones from the queen’s garden. He wanted his made so that he could remember his mother and keep it close to her.”

Merlin’s face dropped and he didn’t even try to turn away from Gwen to hide his reaction. He couldn’t; he was rooted to the spot and nothing would get him to move after that bombshell had been dropped.

“Arthur?” he questioned weakly, head refusing to wrap around the possibility, all the while his magic raging satisfactorily inside of him.

“Yeah,” Gwen said with a laugh. “Your Arthur,” she added with a glint in her eye, crossing over to Merlin and nodding for them to leave.

The puzzle was complete. All along, the pieces had been there, but some had simply been turned over, impossible to fit together. All along, Arthur had been there, in Merlin’s reach from the moment he’d met Gwen, and he’d refused to listen to his magic as it pulled him over to Arthur. Arthur, his dragon, the one who had pleaded across an entire Ocean for Merlin to help them, had always been there, but Merlin hadn’t accepted it.

He still didn’t now.

They exited the building together, but as soon as they hit the bustle of the roads, shuttles rumbling past and people talking, Merlin knew that he couldn’t go back to Gwen’s. He threw a quick apology in Gwen’s direction, splitting away from her side and heading in the direction he hoped would take him to Arthur’s house.

“Merlin?” Gwen asked, her voice bleeding into the background, smothered by the voice of Camelot. Worry had been evident, but Merlin was fuelled on adrenaline and his magic now and didn’t have time to think about anyone else but Arthur and the possibility of him being his dragon.

He came to a stop in a large square, electronic screens plastered on all sides of the tall buildings that overlooked the square. A canal ran on one side of the square, one that Merlin had discovered a few days ago and encompassed the whole City, but water didn’t run through. Instead, Merlin had realised that the water was holographic and hundreds of product names and stock exchange listings flowed in the canal, the New World’s way or letting the people forget that there was such a thing as an Ocean, that water was made of money and electricity and that was all they needed to think about.

As the screens about him flickered, adverts for the latest appliances, the latest gadget, the latest anything and everything, Merlin looked around aimlessly, struck by how out of place he was. What was he doing here, in a place where even the water was touched by the electricity? He’d crossed the Ocean on the whim of one man who had reached out, and now that he finally had the chance to see him, the real man and not the holographic dragon, Merlin was here, staring blankly as beautiful men and women crossed the plasma screens, all smiles and fake glamour.

He didn’t know the exact route to where Arthur was, but it didn’t matter. He let his magic loosen, flow from his chest lazily and into the air around him. It reacted curiously, as if unsure of Merlin’s intentions, before it realised what he wanted.

Something like two fixtures snapping into place resounded in Merlin’s chest, and then the tug was back, stronger than ever. He didn’t need to know the direction with his head, his magic was a better guide and wanted to take him to Arthur.

Merlin left the square, crossing over a strange, little bridge attached to a well. A disembodied voice floated out of the depths of the well, asking Merlin to make a wish, stating that his every dream would come true. Merlin didn’t have time for false wishes and promises, and the only object he could have thrown into the well would have been the necklace hanging over his heart, something he’d never give up.

When he’d crossed the bridge, the world quietened, electronical influence dwindling as he passed through shadows of tall buildings and houses. He had known that Arthur lived slightly separate from the main bustle of the town, but it had never been evident like this before. For the first time since he’d stepped foot inside Camelot, Merlin was alone and away from all others.

His magic kept pulling him along, though, and it was this that kept Merlin walking. He needed to find Arthur, though what he’d do when he saw the prince, Merlin didn’t know.

The house that he was led to was simple, like many of the others on the row it was built upon. Strangely, all the houses in this section were either one or two stories and small, cube-like yet not small to be considered unsuitable for a prince. There was a gate and a path leading up to each of the houses, much like there was with the houses back on the Islands, and Merlin unlatched it easily, letting the gate swing back silently.

He couldn’t remember any of this from the last time he’d been here, but that didn’t surprise Merlin. The last time he’d been here, he’d ended up passing out not long after he’d arrived, overwhelmed by his magic and the influence of the alcohol he’d consumed. This time, he could look around properly, take in every detail in case he needed to escape.

The flowers that dotted the path were colourful, and Merlin stopped by them, regaining his breath and crouching down. The only flowers he’d seen had been scrubby little things, ugly and useless, or the patterns on the kitchen curtains back on Ealdor, blue, raggedy things with the flowers almost completely faded, but still flowers.

Merlin reached out to pluck one from the ground, wanting to smell it, but his hand went straight through the stem with a low buzz, and his heart sank as he realised these too were holographic, much like the trees back at The Restaurant. Still, he tried another flower, frowning as his hand passed through that too.

It seemed like nothing in this world was real, and how could Merlin trust anything now when there was so much that was fake? Were there any real plants in the entire City? Merlin doubted, it, but held on a little hope, wanting to believe that somewhere, even if just a small corner with the tiniest weed, there was a real plant, something living and able to survive in this harsh land.

With a sigh, Merlin straightened, and swallowed down the panic rising. This was something he had to do; he couldn’t back out of it now and he had to find out if Arthur was his dragon or not, there were no exceptions.

For what it was worth, Arthur was still the prince. He may have asked for Merlin’s help, but Merlin doubted he knew the extremities of the situation. Did he even know that Ygraine was alive, but exiled? Or had he simple seen a book that had Merlin’s prophecy in and searched for the Emrys that would be able to help them?

Morgana and Gwen had a bell on the centre of their door, but Arthur had a simple, brass knocker, shaped in the perfect image of the dragon he’d seen in Ygraine’s gardens. Any denial Merlin had been clinging to slipped away and he realised that once he met Arthur, properly, there was no going back.

He rapped the knocker thrice in succession before he could change his mind and shifted nervously where he stood. It was taking every inch of self-control for Merlin not to bolt, and he had to look away, glance around the bare garden and try not to search for any hint of sounds from within.

He couldn’t help but jump when the door opened, and Merlin promptly forgot any of the words he’d scrounged up to say, looking blankly at a tousled-haired, bleary eyed Arthur.

“If you’ve come to drag me back to the castle, I thought I made it clear that I didn’t agree with the policy and that I wasn’t going to listen to the ridiculousness of the situation,” Arthur spat out, and then he blinked, frowning as he realised Merlin wasn’t who he wanted at all.

“You’re not Leon,” he deadpanned, scratching the side of his stomach and deepening his frown. “And only Leon comes to get me,” he said, and Merlin fought the urge to snap out a reply at someone who had clearly just woken up.

Merlin remembered the first words he’d spoken in the garden and repeated them, knowing that anything less and Arthur wouldn’t believe him.

“Once upon a time, there was a young boy,” he began, looking in earnest at Arthur’s face. The tiredness drained off of his face and he paled slightly, staring at Merlin in shock. “And he was a stupid boy who never listened properly, and that got him into trouble.”

Mutely, Arthur stepped aside and Merlin crossed the threshold, turning to face Arthur as the door closed.

“He met a dragon in a garden and decided to cross the Ocean itself because he thought he could save his people,” Merlin continued, keeping hold of Arthur’s gaze, wanting to understand how much Merlin had been through to be here.

“He was a stupid boy who did stupid things,” Merlin said, his magic dimming and emotion flowing through him.

Even though he’d told Gaius and Ygraine about his past, the only one who would ever be able to understand was the man before him. It was because of Arthur that Merlin had risked everything, confident that the Sky Cities did exist, and why he had travelled to this point. He wanted Arthur to know everything that had happened between then and now, wanted to tell him everything that he hadn’t been able to tell anyone else.

Arthur didn’t say anything, simply leant back against the wall and stared at Merlin, mouth slackened and pupils wide.

“But that boy, Emrys, came here, survived, and vowed that he would do everything he could to save the people.” Merlin swallowed, frowning. “I’m here,” he said softly, not daring to look at Arthur directly, suddenly scared of what he might find.

What if, after all he’d been through and everywhere he’d searched, Arthur didn’t want him? What if this had all been a mistake and Merlin wasn’t anything like Arthur had expected? What if Arthur laughed or turned him away, what would Merlin do then?

He’d come here for Arthur. If Arthur didn’t want him – no, didn’t need him – then what could Merlin do? He wasn’t strong enough to do this by himself; he needed Arthur.

“I’m-“

“You were here the other night,” Arthur said, apparently gathering his wits and cutting across what Merlin was about to say.

Merlin closed his mouth and nodded mutely, unsure what exactly he could say to that. It was true, after all, he had been there the other night. He’d scarpered in the morning, but he’d kissed Arthur, slept with him (though sadly only little more than sleeping occurred), and his magic had connected with Arthur. That wasn’t something he could just throw away, especially now that the connection between them was taking advantage of being so close to Arthur, humming inside of Merlin and filling his whole body with power he’d never felt quite like this before.

Unlike with Gwen, Merlin knew he couldn’t influence this conversation. No matter how much it might hurt, he had to let Arthur decide what he wanted to do alone. If Arthur chose not to accept Merlin, then he had to accept that in turn. He couldn’t force anything with Arthur, or else he’d suffer the consequences and nothing would ever be right between them.

Suddenly, without Merlin knowing how or why, Arthur had surged forwards, hand around Merlin’s neck and pushing him back, across the hall until he was pressed against a wall.

“Did she send you?” Arthur asked, face contorting angrily and voice low. His grip tightened on Merlin’s neck, not choking him – not even close – but enough to get his message across and make it clear that Merlin wasn’t going anywhere until Arthur had his answers.

“Nimueh,” Arthur spat out, searching Merlin’s eyes. “She sent you to look into my head that night and then you go scampering off to her.”

Merlin tried to shake his head, but Arthur simple pressed against him harder, curling his lip in a sneer.

“Did she think that she’d be able to find out what I was doing by sending you?” The last word was said in disgust. “You might be one of her sorcerers, but if you think you can manipulate me with your lies then you have another thing coming.”

As his brain caught up with him, Merlin realised who Arthur thought he was. Arthur didn’t believe him, didn’t believe that it had all been a coincidence, that Merlin had been at the Isle to forget and hadn’t been working for Nimueh. He didn’t believe that Merlin had taken off in the morning because it was awkward and that he might have been scared, instead assuming that Merlin had hacked into his head (never mind that he didn’t know that was even possible before Arthur assumed he’d done it) and then run back to Nimueh.

Which also brought up another subject that stroked Merlin’s curiosity; what was Arthur doing that had him so convinced Nimueh was trying to track him down and get inside his head, manipulate him.

“I’m not a fool,” Arthur said, eyes still darting over Merlin wildly, like one of the livestock on Ealdor before the slaughter, when they knew they had no hope of escaping. “You can’t seduce me into giving you information.”

Merlin tilted his head to the side slightly and caught site of a thin-framed picture. He couldn’t see the side closest to his head, but his eyes were keen enough to spot the woman dominating the other side of the photograph.

The woman was smiling and young, holding a baby in her arms. There was an arm around her shoulders, but Merlin couldn’t see any more of the other person, even though he was confident that it was the baby’s father.

“That’s you,” he said quietly, eyes flickering between the picture and Arthur’s face. “Isn’t it? With Ygraine, your mother.”

The anger in Arthur’s face dimmed a little and he shifted his feet, softening the hold he had on Merlin and finally letting his hand slip from Merlin’s throat. It now rested on his shoulders, sill pinning Merlin, but without the bite it had held before.

And while Arthur didn’t say anything, Merlin knew that his words had had an effect.

“We met in her garden. I know you don’t believe me and think I’m on Nimueh’s side, but I could never side with her after all the pain she’s caused.” Merlin bit his lip, looking away. He didn’t know how much Arthur was aware of, but Arthur knew something.

Even though this wasn’t the right time to tell Arthur his mother was still alive, Merlin needed Arthur to trust him enough so he had time to explain. It was clear that Arthur loved his mother, he’d chosen the queen’s garden not just for its connection to the stones no doubt, and Merlin needed to use this to gain Arthur’s trust.

“How can I trust you?” Arthur hissed, pressing back into Merlin and looking him dead in the eye.

“You can’t like this,” Merlin said, unafraid to look Arthur in the eye. He’d crossed an entire ocean for this, and Arthur was going to accept his help one way or another. There was no turning back for Merlin; he was in this until he died.

Arthur searched his eyes one last time, before he backed away, jerking his head at one of the rooms.

“We’ll talk in there,” he said gruffly, eyes never leaving Merlin’s. “I’ll hear what you have to say, but don’t expect me to fall for your bullshit.”

That was enough. Merlin could work with that, so he entered the room, belatedly realising that it was the lounge and the sofa they’d slept on was right in the middle of the room. He paused for a fraction of a second, shooting a glance in Arthur’s direction, before striding over to the sofa and sitting down firmly. He wasn’t afraid of an inanimate object, no matter the memories it held.

“I grew up miles away, on the Island of Ealdor. None of us knew that Sky Cities even existed. Sure, we’d hoped for them, but we never really believed in them,” Merlin began, wanting to start from the beginning so Arthur would believe him.

“The waters kept rising so we looked at our last hope, clinging on desperately that there might be a safe haven for us. I was the one to make the final push,” Merlin said, glancing up at Arthur, who had taken the lone chair on the other side of the coffee table, back ramrod straight and eyes never leaving Merlin.

“I’d found a stone that never shone, never scratched and never dulled on the beach a while ago. It attracted me, but it wasn’t until later that I found out – from you – that it was an Obsidian Stone. After that, I found out I had magic and I believed what you’d said.” Merlin looked down at the carpet between his feet, wondering what Arthur saw when he looked across the table. Merlin didn’t feel like the hero he was supposed to be, as far from it as anyone could be in fact.

“I thought I was supposed to save the villagers.” Merlin gave a snort of dull laughter. “I thought I was supposed to save my friends and family, so we left our Island to find Camelot.”

Merlin didn’t add the ‘to find you’, but he knew Arthur had to have picked up on it.

“I was the only one who washed up on the shores of one of the supporting towers.” Merlin couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice, even though he knew it wasn’t Arthur’s fault. But now that he’d made it, now that he was sitting on Arthur’s sofa, speaking directly to the dragon that had needed him, Merlin couldn’t help it.

He had someone to blame now. And it was so, so easy to blame Arthur. Never mind the fact that Will had found clippings of the New World, or that they’d all had to have done something regardless of what Merlin had believed, but Arthur had summoned Merlin and Merlin had gone. He’d been through so much and he could say that it was Arthur’s fault, because that was so much easier now he was here.

“I came for you,” Merlin said quietly, bitterness still in his voice. “I lost my family and friends because of you, suffered so much and-“

Merlin gritted his jaw and closed his eyes. He was tired, more tired than he’d been in a while, as the weight of everything he’d done since meeting his dragon crashed down. Arthur still sat there, silent and unyielding, watching as Merlin rubbed his eyes.

“I know it’s not your fault,” he said, giving a weak laugh. “It’s just so hard. I’m not… I…”

Merlin sniffed heavily, refusing to reveal exactly how much this had affected him in front of Arthur.

“I’m Merlin, of the Emrys family.” He looked up, meeting Arthur’s eyes again. “I was born on the Island of Ealdor and my parents were Hunith and Balinor.” Arthur didn’t need to know these things, the little details that made Merlin a real person and not just Nimueh’s fabrication, but Merlin wanted him to know.

“My best friend was called Will,” he continued. “And a goat used to live in our kitchen until she died. I used to walk along the beach, looking for washed up junk and useless things that people probably once loved.” Now that he’d started, Merlin couldn’t stop.

“My mum used to love cooking,” he said, smiling at all of the memories that engulfed him. Hunith was there, Balinor in his made-up memories too, before he had died in pictures Hunith had kept, and Will was by his side. There was even the old goat that had lived in their kitchen, though it had always had a penchant for Merlin’s socks.

“We were a community, even though half the village hated Will and me. We were troublemakers when we were younger, or at least Will was.” Merlin sniffed, though it was pointless at this point. “None of us had much, but we made do and there was always, always enough to go around.”

Arthur hadn’t moved, but Merlin wasn’t done.

“I always told stories,” he said, vision clouding slightly as tears rose in the corners of his eyes. It was stupid, Merlin knew, to cry in front of someone he hardly, knew, but this had been his life, something that was lost forever. Who in the New World cared about goats or understood what it was like to never quite have enough?

“In my stories there were always dragons and witches, white knights and heroes.” Merlin shook his head slightly, “Will never cared for them; said I wasn’t hero material. I always thought he was right, but I still told my stories, because they were important to me.”

He looked up then, not caring that his eyes were wet and pink, or that he had to sniff. Merlin had to look at Arthur, had to get him to understand how much this all meant, what he’d been through and what he had yet to do.

“I learnt the hard way that the people I need to save weren’t my people. I wasn’t able to help them, so I ended up here. Once here, more of the people I loved were taken and I had no choice but to come up here.” The tears were gone, but the tremble in Merlin’s voice remained.

He moved his hand to the chain around his neck, pulling the Obsidian from where it had hung between skin and the fabric of his short.

“This is what brought me here,” he said quietly, bringing the chain over his head and placing it on the table between them. “Touch it and I know you’ll see it’s not a fake. I had the idea of putting the Stone on a chain after I saw the design for your own Obsidian.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped up to meet Merlin’s, from where they’d been staring at the Obsidian.

“Gwen’s my friend,” Merlin said, “Morgana too. They took me in when I arrived and have been nothing but kind to me. It was Morgana who brought me to the Isle that night, not Nimueh or whoever else you’re convinced I’m working for,” he added, disgust creeping into his voice at the idea that he could be working against Arthur in such a way.

Though he still didn’t say anything, Merlin watched as Arthur took the necklace in his hands, turning the Stone over in his hands, running his fingers over the sides of it. A second later, he reached under his own shirt, pulling out an identical necklace and holding the two together.

“I believe you,” Arthur said softly, looking at Merlin with wide eyes.

For a moment, Merlin didn’t understand what he’d said. He stared at Arthur for a beat, not quite believing that Arthur was ready to accept him, before he broke into a smile, shaking his head as the tears returned.

“I…” Merlin began, but he was truly lost for words. He sucked his lips in slightly, trying to stop the well of emotion sweeping over him, but it was a futile effort and he had to bring a hand up to the corner of his eye to dispel a tear.

“This is pathetic,” he muttered, but couldn’t stop the smile. “Utterly pathetic.”

Except Merlin didn’t really think it was. After everything, he’d found his dragon and Arthur had believed him. Merlin wasn’t alone anymore, didn’t have to save everyone alone. The dragon had been right in saying that he would fine Arthur.

Another thought hit Merlin and he wanted to strangle the dragon. Kilgharrah had known all along who Arthur was. He’d said, in passing, that anyone able to use the Stone Circle had to have had access to it, but Merlin hadn’t really known what it had meant back now.

Queen Ygraine’s gardens were buried at the heart of Camelot, underneath the bustle of the New World. They were sunken into the Tower, at the base of Camelot and yet still above the levels where thousands of people had their magic forced from them. Everyone knew that, but only someone with specific knowledge would have been able to access the gardens.

Kilgharrah had also mentioned that Nimueh wouldn’t be able to touch whoever the person was opposing her, and that made sense. Even if Uther was on her side, Nimueh wouldn’t want to oppose the king so openly by targeting his son. Instead she would use people to get at Arthur, just as he’d suspected Merlin of doing.

“It’s not,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin looked at him, the smile still in place and hurting his cheeks. “You’ve...” Arthur started, looking down at Merlin’s necklace. “You’ve been through a lot.”

It was an understatement, but it meant so much for Merlin to hear that and he ducked his head, trying to shake the grin that refused to move.

“I don’t know why I’m so happy,” he admitted. “And I am sorry for the other night. I never meant,” Merlin paused, the smile fading as he frowned and looked up. “I never meant to do it in the first place, and then I just had to go.”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders, “It doesn’t matter,” he said offhandedly, but Merlin knew he had to tell Arthur that it did.

“It does though,” he said quickly, and Arthur looked at him in surprise, raising an eyebrow. “My magic wanted me to go with you. It’s what showed me to your house,” he added, waving his arms about. “It connects us, somehow.”

For a moment, Arthur looked dubious. Then he ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily.

“Can we do this in a bit?” he asked. “Can we have dinner, relax and then talk about it later?”

Merlin wanted to say no, wanted to shake him and blurt out that there was no later for the people below them, but Arthur made perfect sense. While it had barely scratched the tip of what Merlin needed to tell Arthur, everything he’d said and revealed so far was too much to just take in and then be able to accept more. They both had limits, and Merlin was already stretched far beyond his own that it would be nice just to eat, safe in the knowledge that they were going to get to the problem soon.

“Please,” he said and Arthur nodded, walking out of the lounge, in the opposite direction Merlin had when he’d been there before.

The house itself was devoid of personal touches. When he’d been here before, Merlin hadn’t noticed anything about the house other than the sofa, where he’d grabbed the shirts from and the exit. Now he had a chance to look around, he realised it wasn’t much different than the picture he’d painted in his mind.

Aside from the picture of Ygraine and (probably) Uther with Arthur, there weren’t any photographs around the house. There was the large, red sofa, a low-set coffee table and a chair, facing the television against the wall. At one end of the room, in the direction Arthur had walked in, was the kitchen and there were two doorways on the wall behind Merlin, one to the bedroom and the other to the door.

Unsure what to do, or what his relationship with Arthur really was, Merlin stood and moved over to the kitchen, taking in the smooth edges of the counters, not unlike Gwen’s. It was, like everything else in the house, less extravagant than Merlin would have imagined a prince to live in, and he said as much before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

Arthur, who had been hovering over the oven, turned to Merlin at the question and looked confused for a moment. The expression cleared and he simple shrugged his shoulders.

“What is there to have memories of? My mother’s dead, my father isn’t one for being a parental figure and the only friends I have are less of friends and more people who work for the Crown and so have to put up with me.” Arthur looked down at the empty hob. “And I don’t have any nice food.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so Merlin didn’t say anything, waited for Arthur to continue.

“Or anything that I can actually cook.” Arthur paused. “I can heat up some pre-cooked stuff. Almost everyone prefers it to cooking because it’s easier, but I don’t understand why. It doesn’t taste that nice.”

The words were useless, but Merlin knew the point behind them. Arthur was trying to fill the silence that Merlin had brought with him, or perhaps divert Merlin’s attention from the silence that surrounded him. This house wasn’t a home and Arthur clearly didn’t know how to make it into one.

“Anything’s fine,” Merlin said. “Trust me, I’ve eaten far worse in my time.”

Arthur moved over to one of the cupboards, taking out a few plastic boxes, shoving them into a small machine on the side counter and pressing buttons.

“The offal of livestock, for example,” Merlin continued. “Usually we sold it to the main village, but in the winter, during the month-long storms and the freezing winters, you had to slaughter your animals in the same house they slept in and eat every last morsel you could.”

The microwave dinged and Arthur pulled the plastic boxed out gingerly, setting them on the counter and fetching plates.

“I hated looking at the other animals’ eyes. It was like they knew what you had done, but knew why you’d done it.” Merlin sniffed, turning his attention to the prospect of food.

“Here,” Arthur said, presenting him with a plate and fork. “We can eat in the other room.”

They sat side by side this time, silent aside from the sounds of forks and chewing. The silence was almost too much to bear, but Arthur was clearly uncomfortable with Merlin’s presence, so he said nothing, digging into his food instead.

They both finished quickly, setting the plates down on the table. Arthur turned to him, lying back on the sofa until his back was against the armrest and his legs tucked under him, looking straight at Merlin.

“We were always taught at school that the Old World drowned decades ago,” he began. “I was looking through the Obsidians because I didn’t trust Nimueh and wanted to see if I could find out what she was up to. I had no idea that anyone else was even out in the Ocean, let alone people living there.”

He spoke as if surviving out in the Oceans was an amazing feat and Merlin felt himself colouring slightly. It was undue praise; they had all done what they had to to survive. Merlin wasn’t amazing for living through all that he had, he was just an Islander.

“We did the best we could,” Merlin said, moving to mirror Arthur’s position, crossing his legs and leaning against the huge cushion. “It’s all we knew and our lifestyle was so different to everyone’s here.”

He said it wistfully, not sure which he preferred. Though it wasn’t as if he could return to Ealdor and he did miss it, Camelot held so much potential. It was steeped in magic and humming with activity, but there were so many flaws with it and so many things that Merlin couldn’t agree with that he couldn’t love the City just yet.

“How did you survive?” Arthur asked quietly and Merlin smiled at him, wanting him to ask the questions.

“We had boats that we used to fish. Our skippers managed to take us through the worst of the storms, but in the end the Ocean was too powerful. My magic saved me and took me to where I wanted to be.” Merlin didn’t mention that Hunith was alive yet as Arthur didn’t know a thing about her. And what he didn’t know, he wouldn’t understand unless it was Merlin in front of him and saying it without flinching.

“How could your magic have saved you?” Arthur then asked, voice changing slightly, a lilt of arrogance that Merlin assumed came naturally to someone who had been raised at Court.

“Nimueh’s the most powerful sorceress we’ve had in centuries, or so they say, and she’s formally trained under the best sorcerers in the land.” He paused, swallowing. “But even she wouldn’t be able to perform something like that.”

Merlin nodded, unafraid to admit his power to Arthur. While the druids had been in awe of what he could do – even Gaius and Ygraine – Arthur didn’t seem the type to be amazed. He was too much of a realist, willing to accept something only when there was undeniable proof.

“For some reason, the Old magic responds to me. It wants to be used, but no one in the New World will listen, or at least that’s what I think,” Merlin began, shifting a little. “The magic wants to be used and I can use it.”

Arthur was silent at that, obviously not quite understanding the concept. Merlin’s brow tightened as he tried to think of a way to explain it.

“Magic has slowly been vanishing from the land, everyone knows that. Your problem,” Merlin said, voice taking on a sharp edge and causing Arthur to raise his eyebrow again. “Is that instead of sorting the problem, your sorcerers just double in number and think it’ll solve everything.”

He looked at Arthur and there was nothing but interest on the man’s face, so he added, “Take the dragon for example. He said that the sorcerers go down every month and in larger numbers just to make sure he does their bidding. That’s not holding power over anything; it’s losing power and refusing to admit it.”

Silence fell again and Merlin waited, unsure what to say next.

**.**

“The dragon is kept as an example of the beasts that caused the Flood,” Arthur said slowly, though he clearly didn’t believe the words, looking at Merlin for confirmation, unsurprised when Merlin shook his head sadly.

“The dragons were slaughtered long before then. Your Dragonlords enslave him, twist his magic until it literally burns inside of him. He’s dying and all your sorcerers do is torture him more.” Merlin gritted his jaw, wanting to tell Arthur about the atrocities his father was allowing, but knowing that there was more to the story that he had to tell before then.

For his part, Arthur was willing to listen. He’d so far asked questions in the right place and taken in everything Merlin had to say, but that was the easy parts of the story. Even telling him that what Arthur knew about dragons was a lie was easy, compared to the other secrets Merlin carried.

“Do you want to do this now?” he asked quietly, knowing that once he’d started, he wouldn’t stop. But he was giving Arthur a choice. They knew each other now, Merlin could find Arthur again if he had to, but it had to be Arthur who made the choice. It was his world Merlin was going to destroy, a world he had grown up in and lived in his whole life.

“Yes,” Arthur replied instantly, before he gave a light snort of laughter. “No,” he said a second later, smiling slightly at Merlin. “I don’t think I ever want to hear how corrupt the City is, but that’s no longer an option.”

He sprang off of the sofa, pacing the space between the television wall and the doorway to his bedroom.

“You’ve been through so much and you’re still here, willing to tell me everything even though I…” Arthur cut himself off, stopping mid-stride and turning his head to look at Merlin. “Even though I thought you were working for Nimueh and everything had been a ploy to get in my head.”

Merlin knew he wasn’t only referring to today’s actions and ducked his head slightly.

“If it helps, he said lightly, “I did steal some of your shirts.”

The look Arthur gave him made Merlin shift uncomfortably.

“My shirts?” Arthur said, half bemused and half annoyed. “Do I even want to know why?”

And before he could stop himself, Merlin channelled Gwen’s words from the morning after, “It wasn’t a trophy or anything.”

Arthur raised his eyebrow again, eyes darting to the side. “Okay then,” he said, drawling out the words before shaking his head. “I don’t expect you’ll give them back?”

Merlin knew he should give them back, he’d stolen the shirts after all, but they were nicer than anything he’d ever worn, including the clothes Gwen and Morgana had piled on him. Clearly a perk of being royalty, but Merlin didn’t want to hand them back. Silly as it sounded, he’d grown attached to the idea of having the dragon over his chest, even if he hadn’t fully connected the dots back then.

“They’re really nice clothes?” he tried, wincing slightly as Arthur gave him another odd look.

“You can keep them,” he muttered, coming to take his seat back on the sofa. “Not like I can’t afford more,” he added with a grin, looking at Merlin pointedly.

Merlin took the jibe how it was intended and smiled back at Arthur, nudging him with his foot as he stretched his legs out.

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted after a moment of quiet. Merlin’s feet were still resting against Arthur’s crossed legs and neither made a move to separate.

“I want to know everything, but at the same time I know that nothing will be the same after that.” Arthur looked at Merlin, searching for something in his eyes.

“Is there anything we can ease into?” he asked, and Merlin knew he wasn’t expecting the answer he wanted.

There were little details that Merlin could tell him, and he said as much, though they would all eventually lead to the truth.

But, for now, Merlin told Arthur about the refugee camps, of the living conditions and the equal hope and despair of people having their children and loved ones taken away. When Merlin mentioned the Pickings, a dark look crossed Arthur’s face and Merlin wondered if he didn’t have to explain any of that because Arthur already knew… but then the look was gone, Arthur clearly wondering where the people were going rather than outright knowing.

He carried on, telling Arthur about Mordred and the other Urchin children, smiling as he remembered some of their antics.

“They didn’t care for rules or regulations,” Merlin said. “Mordred was one of the druids so he didn’t quite have the same wild element as the others, but they were all free. None of them listened to rules, but that was their way of living and it was good for them.”

The Wild Children had been free of society and made up their own rules. They’d accepted Mordred when he’d had no place to go, and even accepted Merlin the night before he’d gone to the Tower. He remembered their scraggy forms huddled together for warmth, and then how the Police had shot more than one of them just for fun, and looked at Arthur, wanting to tell him how horrible life was outside of the City.

“The Police make games out of shooting the children,” he said and Arthur’s shoulder stiffened. “One less Urchin child, all the better to them.”

“My father-“ Arthur began, but cut himself off. Merlin knew why; Arthur wasn’t an idiot and he knew there was something far worse to come. His father may be the king and good to the people here, but the people outside weren’t human, and Arthur knew how his father saw things.

“How much do you know about the world outside Camelot?” Merlin asked, the sudden change in conversation causing Arthur to look up in curiosity.

When he spoke, his voice was slightly unsure, as if Merlin knew far more than he could ever hope to understand.

“We’ve always been taught that the only people left in the world live in Sky Cities. I never had reason to question that until I heard my father and Nimueh talking, saying something about increasing the Pickings on the refugees outside.” Arthur paused, looking away from Merlin for a moment.

“I didn’t understand what it meant back then, but I wanted to know why my father didn’t tell me there were people who needed help.” Arthur sighed, leaning back against the cushion and running a hand through his hair again.

“I looked through a lot of books,” he continued, flashing a glance over at Merlin and smiling. “Proper books too, the old ones from before the Floods.”

Merlin had seen books, of course he had. Some of them had been waterlogged and some had been in perfect condition, and then there had been the book of dragons his mother had said belonged to his father… but he couldn’t imagine flipping through an endless amount of books, especially ones from centuries ago, as if it was no big deal.

“I found what I was looking for in the Chronicles of Beltane,” Arthur said and Merlin looked at him, recognising the name from the book Gaius had read from when he’d told Merlin about the Old magic and why he could use it.

“There is a prophecy, repeated over and over in the Chronicles, of a man who would have more power than the Ocean itself. He was named as the one person who would be able to save those in need, even in the blindness of humanity.” Arthur looked at Merlin, gaze unwavering.

“They called him Emrys, so I want searching. There were people out there who needed help and I thought that I’d be able to bring the mighty warrior here to help.” Merlin looked down, not knowing what to say. He was no mighty warrior, no glorified human or anything other than a young man.

“My Obsidian,” Arthur continued, holding the stone that was resting against his chest. “It was given to me by my mother, before she died. I was young, lost the memories of her, but I knew that I had to use it to find you.”

Merlin knew from what Kilgharrah had said that Arthur was smart. He’d made the Obsidian connect to the Stone Circle without a hint of magic, forced his dragon-holograph form through it and found Merlin. He was resourceful, sharp, and willing to see where everyone else turned their heads.

These facts also made him dangerous. If Merlin ever became a threat to Arthur, revealed something at the wrong time or acted to betray Arthur, he knew that Arthur wouldn’t feel regret for any action against Merlin. They weren’t friends, yet, and maybe their stances towards each other would change, but for now they were simply two people who had to work together. (Merlin promptly ignored the churn his magic threw out at the idea of Arthur hating Merlin. That could be dealt with another day.)

“The druids,” Arthur said next, frowning as he re-caught Merlin’s attention. “They live in the space between these two fences?”

Merlin nodded. He’d explained the land at the base of the towers, how there was the sea, the refugees, the walls and the spaces between them. He hadn’t explained further than getting past the wall, and he wondered how much he should explain now, about Gaius and Ygraine.

“My father used to live in Camelot,” Merlin said instead. “He had to leave, but he was friends with the queen and Gaius, your doctor?”

At Arthur’s slight smile, Merlin continued. “I met Gaius. He took me in at the druid camp, when I told him about my family and who I was.”

Shock was clear on Arthur’s face and Merlin knew that he couldn’t tell him about his mother just yet. If this was his reaction to Gaius, there was no telling how Arthur would react when he found out about Ygraine.

“My father said he transferred to another City,” Arthur murmured, loosening his grip on his Obsidian and letting the stone fall onto his chest.

“He knew the prophecies,” Merlin said quietly, “But he didn’t choose to leave Camelot.”

Arthur’s eyes were clear when he looked at Merlin. There was a heavy weight on his shoulders; Merlin could see it even though there wasn’t technically anything to see.

“It’s late,” he said suddenly, and Merlin started a little in surprise. It was true that it was late, but this was a bit more pressing than bedtime.

And then he looked at Arthur again, into his eyes and at the lines of tiredness on his face. It was then that Merlin realised something. All the time he’d been crossing the Ocean and climbing the Tower, he’d still had his goal, known what he had to do. Merlin had had Gaius and Ygraine, and Mordred and Aglain, and even the other druids. He had been supported, even though he’d never quite realised that.

But Arthur? He was a prince who knew that his kingdom was corrupt, that his own father was lying and that the whole world was twisted. Arthur had sat next to his father and with Nimueh knowing that there were people suffering, but there was nothing he could do because Merlin wasn’t there. Merlin may be the one who had the magical power, but Arthur was the one born to be a ruler, and he’d known about his people’s suffering and simply had to wait.

“You’re right,” Merlin rushed out, standing and tucking his Obsidian under his shirt. “I should go.”

Arthur opened his mouth slightly, before he shut it again, clearly thinking against whatever it was he was going to say.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” Merlin asked, unsure how he’d react if Arthur said no. Thankfully, Arthur nodded slowly.

“I won’t be here in the morning, but I’ll give you the code to get in. Just come around whenever,” he waved his hands around the room, “And help yourself to food, the TV, whatever.”

To anyone else, it may seem odd that Arthur was willing to open his doors to a stranger, but it was just a house to Arthur, and they had to get along.

“If you need me before,” Merlin said, shuffling to the door somewhat reluctantly. “Then I’m at Gwen and Morgana’s.”

Arthur nodded distractedly, handing Merlin a piece of paper with a four digit code on it. He pocketed the paper, letting Arthur lead the way to the door. Arthur opened it and Merlin lingered in the threshold, catching Arthur’s hand where it was resting on the doorframe.

“I know it’s not the best situation,” he began, avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “Some of the things I have to say won’t be nice, but I just want you to know that I’ll be there until it’s all over. I want to be your friend, if you’ll have me.”

Merlin tried not to shift as he felt Arthur’s gaze inspecting him. He felt Arthur’s hand twitch under his and looked up, mirroring Arthur’s sudden smile.

“Careful Merlin,” he said, smirking slightly, “I might just have to take you up on that.”

The door closed as Merlin stepped back, a smile on his lips and heart heavier than it had been for weeks, months even. He’d finally found his dragon – Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, Ygraine’s son – and now neither of them were alone anymore.

The walk back to Gwen and Morgana’s was slow, Merlin keeping his head down and thinking about what he needed to tell Arthur. The sky above was dark, but there were no stars and after a moment of trying to find them, Merlin looked away, disgusted. He missed the wind and the stars, the open Ocean and the sound of waves. None of that echoed around Camelot, at least not yet.

“Merlin!” Gwen gasped as soon as he opened the door, flinging her arms around him. “Where the hell have you been?”

Morgana was by their side in an instant, pale-faced and wide eyed.

“For fuck’s sake,” she said, pushing Gwen to the side slightly and whacking Merlin on the arm, hard. “I got a call from Gwen saying that you took off like a nutter and she had no idea where you went, then you’re not home for hours?”

She grabbed him, hugging him tightly, before pulling back and hitting his arm again.

“Where were you?” Gwen asked and Merlin looked at her, guilt coiling in his stomach as he took in her red eyes. She, and Morgana now that he looked twice, had been crying.

“I…” Merlin began, but he couldn’t exactly tell them the truth, could he? And it was very suspect suddenly taking off, but at the time, Merlin hadn’t been thinking. He’d needed to see Arthur there and then, needed to confirm everything that had suddenly clicked.

“I’m sorry,” he said weakly, but Morgana tsked and shook her head.

“Not good enough. We’re your friends Merlin, and you just left Gwen there thinking something awful had happened.” Morgana bit her lip and added, “Left me thinking that something awful had happened, considering…”

She cut herself off, Gwen shooting her a sharp look. Merlin caught it and his gaze darted between them, trying to place whatever it was together.

“Considering what?” he asked, voice low and curious. There was something strange in the looks Gwen and Morgana kept shooting at each other and Merlin realised there was something they hadn’t told him.

“Morgana,” he said firmly, catching her eye.

He was tired of the secrets and the lies. In truth, Merlin would have liked nothing more than to tell the girls everything, but that would place them in a dangerous position. He was already treading a thin line, what with stealing someone’s identity and sneaking into the City, but Merlin didn’t want to include Morgana or Gwen even further if he could avoid it.

“Morgause was asked to look out for someone,” she said, not meeting Merlin’s eyes. He felt his blood run cold and took a step back, shoulders resting against the closed door.

“She used to belong to the sorcerers, but left to found the Isle. Still, Nimueh knows her well and asked her a favour.” Morgana sighed. “It’s only because you came in with me that Morgause hasn’t told her.”

Gwen made as if to comfort Merlin, but she paused at his wide eyes and shaking head. He’d thought he was safe, and yet all this time, Nimueh had been searching for him? Had she known the moment he’d switched places with the guard or had he at least been able to get into the City and merge into the endless amount of people before she’d seen what he looked like.

“Morgause won’t tell her,” Morgana added hastily. “She wouldn’t betray me like that.”

He was almost about to ask how Morgana could know that in so much confidence, when he realised she had more to say, avoiding his eyes and sharing more fervent looks with Gwen.

“And,” Gwen said softly, Merlin turning his head sharply towards her. “She said you have magic, but that Nimueh wasn’t extending an invitation to the sorcerers.”

They both looked worried, but Merlin didn’t know how to quell the worries. He felt them, even stronger than they must be feeling, and though they weren’t turning him away right now, they hardly knew even a scratch of the truth.

“Whatever Nimueh wants from you,” Morgana said, voice fierce, “We can help you.”

Gwen was nodding at the words, determined look on her face, and Merlin couldn’t help but laugh. Here were two women he’d lied to, crashed into their lives and kept up a charade – one they’d known had to be a lie, for Morgause must have told them ages ago – and yet they were still willing to defend him, to go against the most powerful sorceress in the City, and all for a man they hardly knew.

“What if I’m a terrible person?” Merlin asked, cruel smile on his face. It felt odd, too sharp and wide, but what could he do? They didn’t know him and wouldn’t like him if they did. “What if I said that I lied to you this whole time, that I manipulated my way into your lives and used you?”

Merlin didn’t wait for a response, ploughing on, “What if you found out that I’d hurt people, betrayed people when they needed me? What if you found out I had the potential to destroy everything you knew… would you still want to help me then?”

“You idiot!” Morgana said, moving forwards to stare Merlin down. “Do you think we didn’t imagine all of that? That you were some criminal who had climbed the Tower and come to take revenge?”

She gave a harsh laugh, “Our scenarios are a thousand times worse than anything that could ever be the truth and you know what?”

Merlin could scarcely breathe, heart hammering in his chest at Morgana’s next words.

“We decided that we didn’t care.” She moved back to stand beside Gwen, face softening and sighing. “We decided that it didn’t matter, because whatever you did, it’s not who you are.”

The words took all the energy out of Merlin and he slumped against the door.

“Look,” Morgana said quietly, crouching down until she was level with Merlin. “Nimueh is not a nice person. Whatever she wants you for,” Morgana looked away shaking her head.

“Maybe,” Gwen cut in, “We should sit down and have some tea.” Merlin looked at her. “And maybe we can explain everything to each other.”

As Gwen went to the kitchen, Morgana and Merlin moved to the sofas. Merlin wondered if every serious conversation in his life was now going to take place on a sofa, but accepted the mug of tea Gwen came back with graciously. He jiggled his leg a little nervously as they were all seated, waiting for someone else to start.

“I have these… dreams,” Morgana began, legs crossed on the sofa and mug clutched in her hands. “I’ve always had them, but I never thought they were anything more than nightmares until Morgause found me.”

Merlin looked at her, waiting for more of the story.

“Morgause is my half-sister,” she said, and Merlin looked at her in surprise. He hadn’t been able to tell that, what with only knowing Morgause for a brief moment, but there had clearly been a connection between her and Morgana.

“She told me that it used to be a powerful gift, one that sorcerers of the past were able to channel and use for prophecy.” Morgana gave a slightly pained smile, “But that magic is all but dead and I only get the echoes haunting me.”

She looked at Merlin, eyes searching his. “Morgause hid me from Nimueh. If she’d discovered I had magic, I would have been recruited into the sorcerers.”

It was odd for Morgana to act this way, Merlin thought. To the public, the sorcerers of the City were good people, honest and working on ways to prolong Camelot’s life. But Morgana wasn’t exactly an ordinary person; she’d grown up at Court and knew more about what went on behind closed doors than almost everyone else.

Her situation was similar to Arthur’s in the fact that they were both placed in difficult positions. Arthur for what he knew, and Morgana for a power she had been born with. Both of them had had choices to come clean and confess what they knew, but they’d both chosen to side against Nimueh, something Merlin was indefinitely grateful for.

“There’s more to them than meets the eye,” Morgana hurried on. “Whatever Nimueh’s trying to find you for, she’ll drag you down and they’ll do terrible things, beyond imagining.”

Merlin gave a small snort of laughter, meeting Morgana’s shocked gaze.

“What makes you think she hasn’t already?” he said quietly.

This was what he’d wanted to admit all evening, but hadn’t been able to because Arthur wouldn’t be able to understand. For Arthur, even in the short time Merlin had known him, his father was important. Morgana had been hiding her gifts all her life and had a greater bond to think of with Morgause than worry about the king. Morgana, when she’d confided her secrets, hadn’t been rejected by the one person who loved her.

Arthur didn’t have anyone. Aside from Uther, who Merlin could guess was hardly a fatherly figure at best of times considering how Ygraine had talked of him and the pinch in Gaius’ face when they’d discussed certain matters, there wasn’t anyone else for Arthur to turn to. He’d had to reach out over an Ocean to find someone willing to help, that’s how alone he’d been.

At least Morgana had had Morgause, at least she understood what was at stake for Merlin and had given him something in return for the truth. She had trusted him with her secret, given him it as a token, so that neither of them had anything to lose anymore. That was why he could say these things to Morgana and Gwen, and why Arthur would have to wait.

“Already?” Gwen said, voice incredulous. “You can’t mean…”

Merlin ducked his head slightly, looking down at the tea in his mug. They didn’t need to know all the details, but he could share his story with them.

“I come from the Island of Ealdor,” he said, not meeting their eyes. “I washed up on Camelot and was found.”

Merlin knew that he couldn’t say too much. He couldn’t tell Gwen or Morgana about what Arthur had done, or about Gaius and Ygraine. They could know about him, but they couldn’t know everything Arthur was involved in.

“Nimueh wanted me because I have magic,” he said, skimming over the subject. “I escaped before she could get to me and lied my way into Camelot.”

“You mean you impersonated a member of Nimueh’s ranks,” Morgana stated curtly. “So what happened to that man you impersonated? Did you kill him?”

Looking up, Merlin knew that she didn’t buy all of his story. She knew there was something more, but he wasn’t going to tell her. That much belonged to Arthur, not Morgana, and he would keep it down to just him and Arthur as long as he could.

Besides, the more Morgana knew, the more she and Gwen were in danger. Arthur knew the risks, but the two here had no idea how big everything was.

“I switched places with him in my cell,” Merlin said flatly, not outright lying as he had switched places. “I expect that’s how Nimueh knew I’d escaped.”

Gwen gave a little gasp, rising on her knees, moving forwards to the sofa Merlin and Morgana were sitting on, throwing the little cushion nest she’d made into disarray.

“Merlin,” she said, catching his wrist. “You didn’t use your card did you, back at the Restaurant?”

Frowning, Merlin shook his head. “I don’t have my own cards or anything.”

“Exactly,” Gwen said, darting a look at Morgana. “What if Nimueh already knew and started tracking you back then?”

Merlin was about to dismiss the notion and to shake it off with a laugh, when he realised that Nimueh would have had plenty of time to realise what had happened. Merlin had been having blood work done, it was entirely possible that someone had called the room, or even visited, only to find Merlin gone and his guard strapped up.

There had certainly been time enough for the discovery to be made. Merlin had spent over a day there, walking down to the dragon and back, before entering Camelot. What if Nimueh had let him enter, if she’d simply watched as he negotiated the New World, waiting to strike.

But… then again…

“Wouldn’t she have done something by now?” Merlin asked, frowning and hoping desperately.

Morgana raised an eyebrow, smiling sadly. “She’d rather wait in hiding and corner you with no other option. Nimueh will wait weeks if she has to, let someone grow complacent and lazy, thinking their safe. But the moment you become open to strike,” Morgana leaned forwards, hissing, “That’s when she’ll take you down.”

Swallowing thickly, Merlin looked down at his tea again. It was tepid now, not suitable for drinking, but the earthy colour reminded him of home, of his mother and for all the reasons he was doing this.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly, wondering if they’d really ask him to leave.

Gwen’s hand on his wrist tightened.

“We’re all going to go to bed. It’s far too late for this sort of talk,” she said sternly, fixing Morgana with a look as she began to protest. “Then in the morning, we’re going to have breakfast early and Morgana and I will go to work, where we’ll try to find out something about Nimueh and how much she knows.

“When we come back, we expect you to be here.” Gwen squeezed his wrist again, firmer this time. “You can tell us what you need to and we will tell you what we’ve managed to find out.”

Morgana made a noise, as if she was about to say something in protest, but Gwen simply shot her a dark look and that was the end of that. Merlin was just beginning to learn that Gwen was a formidable force when she wanted to be.

“Merlin can tell us what he needs to and no more,” she reinforced, directing the words to Morgana. “He’s our friend and I think I speak for the both of us when I say that whatever this is, Merlin knows best about what he wants to reveal.”

Merlin felt the look Morgana shot him, as if she was unhappy about the whole thing and only obeying because it was Gwen, before Morgana stood and walked to her room, full mug left on the table.

Sighing, Gwen said, “I’m sorry about her.” She moved up until she sat next to Merlin. “All her life she’s had these dreams of someone sneaking into Camelot, being the first to come from the Islands. She dreamt of a terrible choice they’d have to make and how they’d change the world either way.”

She paused and was silent for a few moments.

“I don’t really want to know if you’re capable of changing the world,” she whispered, tucking her head against Merlin’s shoulder. “But Morgana told me about the terrible things that could happen either way, and if it really is you… then it doesn’t have to happen just yet.”

She sniffed and Merlin froze, not knowing what to do or say.

“We don’t have to lose you just yet,” Gwen said as she slid from the sofa and away into her room, leaving Merlin alone, staring at the wall with wide eyes.

What Gwen didn’t know, and Morgana probably only suspected, was that Merlin had heard similar words before. Kilgharrah had warned him of a choice he’d have to make, a terrible choice that would either save them all or condemn them. If Morgana was a Seer as Merlin suspected, not someone who simply saw the echoes of magic, then she had the power to see the future and see what Merlin’s choice would be.

He sighed, burying his head into his hands. When had everything become so complicated and twisted? Morgana and Gwen were never supposed to know about his true identity, and now that they had, they wanted to know more. Sure they’d respected his boundaries, but Merlin had already told them far more than he’d ever wanted to.

He ran his fingers through his hair, mind racing. He had to see Arthur tomorrow, and tell him about Morgana and Gwen, but did he come back? He could just run away from Morgana and Gwen, let them think he was a callous bastard in the end, but at least they wouldn’t know more.

Yet, if Nimueh already knew who he was, it wasn’t a far cry to assume that she also knew about Gwen and Morgana. Even if he left, would Morgana and Gwen be safe?

There was only one person who would be able to help him out there. There was one person who had already protected Morgana and Merlin knew would continue to protect her, and through her, Gwen. It meant that he’d have to visit Morgause, but it would be worth it in the end.

Plus, Merlin knew Arthur would come too. That’s just how it was now; him and Arthur through everything. Not even Morgana or Gwen could come close to the bond Merlin had with Arthur, though their relationship was rocky and fledgling.

It took a while for Merlin to sleep that night, but when he eventually did, his Obsidian was around his neck and his dreams were of a golden dragon curled around a throne.

**.**

Merlin ignored the stare pressing against him in favour for looking at the door. Arthur was standing, slightly hunched with his hands in his pockets, by Merlin’s side, eyes fixed on Merlin.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he muttered, for what had to be the hundredth time.

“Yes,” Merlin hissed back, nudging Arthur with his shoulder a little. “It is. Morgana said that Morgause protected her so we can trust her.” Merlin hoped that Arthur couldn’t hear the slight shake in his voice and that he’d just accept the situation for what it was.

Except Arthur was still staring at him and Merlin knew he’d never accept it for what it was.

The morning had passed far too easily. Gwen, Morgana and Merlin had had breakfast, Gwen and Morgana had gone to work and Merlin had gone to Arthur’s as soon as he could, spending the day flicking between Arthur’s books and the blinding programmes on the TV, far more enchanted with the books.

Arthur had returned to the house haggard and grim-faced, pausing in the doorway slightly as he’d caught site of Merlin sprawled over his sofa.

“You’re here,” he’d said, voice tired, and Merlin had jolted up from reading, looking at Arthur blearily.

“Yeah,” he’d replied, smiling widely as his magic coiled warmly in his chest, just how Merlin imagined dragon’s fire to.

It was only lunchtime and Arthur explained that he’d managed to get off general princely duties for the afternoon by saying he had some matters to attend to. Apparently Uther respected Arthur a great deal, for he’d simply waved his son off home and wished him luck with the projects.

They’d eaten more New Food, tasteless, easy to cook stuff as Arthur hadn’t been able to pick anything up, and Merlin had told him about Morgana and Gwen.

“You know how I said I lived with Morgana and Gwen?” Merlin had begun, and Arthur had raised an eyebrow over the forkful of suspicious blue mush he was eating. “Well, they may have accosted me when I got back last night.”

In his defence, Arthur waited patiently until Merlin was done before he burst out laughing, eyes crinkling.

“I wish I’d seen your face,” he said, setting his fork down and looking at an un-amused Merlin. “I bet horror looks good on you.”

They’d settled into an amiable relationship, set on jibes and laughs at each other, feeling their boundaries and testing them. Arthur was a good person, Merlin had come to realise, and he knew Arthur felt similar.

He’d gone on then to explain why they needed to visit Morgause and how she could be important in whatever upcoming battles they had to face – metaphorical or not.

So Arthur had taken them through the busier parts of Camelot, passing over the little bridge that led to the square, leaving the disembodied voice begging for wishes behind, and through the square. He continued leading them, pointing out places of interest to Merlin in a way that Merlin knew was instinctual and made Arthur feel more in-control of the situation.

The building they’d ended up at, Merlin had realised, was the Isle. It looked smaller than it had the night they’d been here, and Merlin shot Arthur a quick look, wondering what memories the Isle brought back for him.

The door opened and a burly man looked at them, scanning them with his eyes before stepping back and nodding.

“Morgause is down the hall, the smaller door,” he huffed out, letting Arthur and Merlin in.

“So much for forgetting,” Arthur muttered, falling into step beside Merlin as they walked down the stairs, heading for the door Morgana had taken him to first of all.

“Somehow I don’t think this is a conversation we’d want to forget.” Merlin stopped before the door. “Besides, not everything’s good to forget, is it?”

It was the only time they’d mentioned the night between them at the Isle in the open, and Merlin wondered if he’d been an idiot to bring it up.

Arthur looked at him, warm smile just curling the edges of his lips. “No,” he admitted, “I don’t suppose it is.”

It was a simple admission, and to anyone else it might have seems that the conversation was innocent, but Merlin remembered part of that night and clearly so did Arthur. They hadn’t spoken of it, but hearing Arthur say that he hadn’t forgotten, that he didn’t want to forget, sent a thrill through Merlin and he hid his smile, ignoring the way his magic wriggled inside of him.

There was another reason why Merlin would never tell Morgana and Gwen the same as he’d tell Arthur. His magic didn’t respond in the same way to them as it did Arthur, wanting to curl around him and pull him close. Though he could shake it off, say that his magic was simply remembering the night they’d spent, and how Merlin had never felt it before because he’d never done it before, but that would only be a half-truth. His magic, though it had been dulled at the Isle before, had sought Arthur out willingly. His magic liked Arthur just as much as Merlin did and had chosen to form a connection with the man, for whatever reason.

The door to the room the bouncer had said Morgause would be in was open. The club was strange, lit up brighter than it had been so that it looked normal, not like the mysterious place you came to to forget, but the magic pulsing through the building was much the same.

As they stepped into the room, Merlin shivered at the sudden weight of magic, focused solely on him now that Morgana wasn’t in the room, and Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder, worry evident on his face.

“I’m fine,” Merlin said quickly, “It’s just this place has so much magic running through its walls.”

He almost added that the magic wanted him to use it, but he hadn’t quite explained about that to Arthur in a way that didn’t make him sound like a madman who went around picking up stray strands of magic like it was nothing. Magic, to the rest of the world, was a dying force that people were using the ability to use.

Arthur knew that the strongest sorcerer was losing her grip on her magic and even though he knew that Merlin was powerful, it was a bit much to explain he could technically just draw out every inch of magic in the City with very little effort.

“Oh,” Arthur replied, shooting a look around the room. “I thought it felt different.”

Merlin wondered if Arthur could feel the magic stronger than anyone else without magic. He remembered Ygraine’s horrified confession that her son had been born with the use of magic, how his life had sacrificed a child taken during the Pickings, and that had to have a direct link to what Arthur could feel, surely?

Whatever Nimueh had done, a spell, an enchantment, a curse… it had t ohave left Arthur with some sense for magic, latent or otherwise. He had to be able to feel the magic in the room more powerful than what someone without his history could, though he doubted that Arthur knew why, or even suspected he could have been born due to magical means.

“I thought you might come,” a voice said, and Morgause walked into the room with a grim look on her face. “Though I did hope otherwise,” she added, looking Arthur up and down before turning to Merlin.

“And I’ll admit I never thought you would bring the prince himself here. Morgana mentioned she saw you with a companion, but she was never able to pick the person out.” Morgause gave them a wary smile, taking a half-step back gesturing for them to go through the door she’d just entered in.

Merlin picked his way forwards through the dim room, ignoring the hiss of magic as it tried to lull him in, tried to merge with his own, and stepped through the doorway with Arthur just behind him.

Instantly, the atmosphere changed, almost as if they’d stepped into a completely new building. The light was brighter, the air fresher, and Merlin realised that this was where Morgause lived, that her home was directly connected to the Isle.

He didn’t even want to think about what the constant feel of the magic was like and turned his attention to Morgause and Arthur, who were both taking seats around a table, situated in the centre of the room. It was the only object in the room, but somehow it didn’t make the room seem empty or unused.

“I take it that you know Morgana had dreams of you?” Morgause asked, curt and to the point. She seemed a formidable woman, even more so than Morgana, and that was saying something.

“She explained about her nightmares to me last night,” Merlin began, looking at Arthur, who nodded, even though he hadn’t been there. The support was well-intended, though, and Merlin was grateful for it.

“That doesn’t answer why you’d be here,” said Morgause, eyes flickering from Merlin to Arthur and pausing for a moment. “But I can guess it’s one of a few things.”

She put her elbows on the table in front of her, looking directly to Merlin and linking her fingers, waiting for what he had to say.

Swallowing, Merlin began, “I don’t want Morgana or Gwen involved.” Morgause didn’t look surprised by the statement, but her face softened slightly.

“It’s obvious that you know more about Nimueh than they do, and while I have no idea if you know the truth, I know I can trust you to protect them if Nimueh decides to go after them because of their association with me.” Merlin looked at the table, running a finger over the smooth wood.

“I don’t want to leave them,” he said softly, and it was true. They were his friends, people who were willing to sacrifice whatever they needed to to help him, but Merlin couldn’t let them. They were never supposed to have changed their lives for him, yet that is exactly what they had done and were prepared to carry on doing.

“But I value their safety and that’s why I have to go.” Merlin looked at Arthur, remembering the other conversation they’d had earlier. Merlin had explained the situation, and Arthur had sat there with a frown, letting Merlin think it through before coming up with his proposal.

“You can come and live with me,” he’d said, calmly and openly. Merlin had looked at him sharply, asked if he was sure, and Arthur had simply nodded.

“You’ll be here a lot of the time anyway and no one will expect you to be friends with the prince if you’re a revolutionary.” Arthur had grinned, almost wickedly, “All I have to do is back everything my father and Nimueh say, not obviously so it looks like I have something to hide, and you can stay here without anyone the wiser.”

They’d hashed out a basic plan, that Merlin would go to Morgana and Gwen and tell them a few truths. After that, they’d go to work and during that time, Merlin would pack everything and leave without a trace. It was cold hearted, but he couldn’t let them be dragged into this too.

Morgause sighed, bringing Merlin back to the present day. She tilted her head, letting blonde curls cover her face slightly, before she turned her gaze to Merlin once more.

“You realise that Nimueh is going to realise I’m against her if I do this?” she said, sounding weary of the situation already.

“Yes,” Arthur said simply, as Merlin failed to think of a counter. “But I can speak for the both of us when I say we want to keep Morgana safe. We’ve never got on, you and I, but you want Morgana to be safe more than anything. If Nimueh knew that Morgana was tied to Merlin, what would she do?”

The venom in Morgause’s glare directed to Arthur was visible from where Merlin was sitting. He’d know they had their differences, but Merlin had never realised how much Morgause and Arthur’s history laid between them. Still, Arthur had made a good point, and Merlin hoped it would be enough.

“I’ve had to take the measures I did because of what your father did,” Morgause hissed, look furious. “Your father forced me to turn my back on my teachers, my career and all of my friends. I was shunned from the moment I walked away from the sorcerers and all because your father would have forced my sister to comply with the sorcerers too. I might have enjoyed the work, but Morgana was never meant for it. Your father-“

“He’s Morgana’s father too,” Arthur stated simply, calmly.

Merlin’s eyes widened. Morgana had never mentioned anything about being related to Arthur or the king, and neither had Arthur. Everyone else knew Morgana as the king’s ward so the information had to be classified to some degree, but the way Arthur had said it was so casual, it was if he’d known for a long time, come to acceptance of the fact even.

“And that makes it better?” Morgause said in disgust, fury flashing in her eyes.

“No,” Arthur reasoned firmly. “But if Uther was going to bend the rules for anyone, it would have been Morgana. You knew that, Morgana knew that, and yet you both chose to turn away from Nimueh.”

Merlin waited patiently, knowing that this was not a conversation he could just enter. This was something deeper than just asking Morgause for help, it was proving to her that she needed to help them, and the only person who would be able to convince her would be Arthur.

“What was I supposed to do?” Morgause said, still glaring at Arthur and unwilling to lose the fight. It was a quality Merlin admired and knew would come in handy, if they managed to get her on their side.

“Exactly what you did,” Arthur said, resting his elbows on the table, mirroring Morgause. “But don’t blame me for something that my father did. I am not him, and I thought I made that clear by showing up with Merlin today, but it seems you need a deeper explanation.”

Arthur took in a deep breath before he spoke. “My father has controlled my life ever since my mother died.” Merlin listened intently, wanting to know about Arthur’s life and what had driven him to this moment.

“Ever since I was a child, all I’ve known is that my father gets the final say on everything, from who I make friends with, to what I eat, how I dress and what I’ve learnt about.” Arthur clenched his jaw, but refused to take his eyes from Morgause. “I’ve been the perfect prince for a long time, but that didn’t make me a nice person.”

Morgause gave a harsh chuckle, “Such as when you found out about Morgana? You said you would get on a boat and sail away where no one cared.” She gave a withering look in Merlin’s direction, “It sounds so melodramatic, but he was going to do it. He had guards tracking him around the City for weeks.”

Her voice was gleeful, but Merlin could hear the malice behind it.

“I was a brat,” Arthur said, “Though when you’ve spent your life being told how much your father loved his wife and found out he was having it off with another woman behind her back all the while, it changes your behaviour a little. I think even you, Morgause, can acknowledge that, considering you were the one who told me.”

Morgause rolled her eyes.

“My point it, my father is a different man to who I am. He’s tried to shape me in his image, but if he’d been successful, would I be asking for your help today?” Arthur tilted his chin and Merlin looked at him, amazed by the shift he’d brought on with that slight movement. He wasn’t playing Morgause’s game anymore, he was telling her what she had to do and giving her straight choices.

Morgause looked at Arthur, hard, for a moment, before she suddenly turned to Merlin pointing a finger at him

“Why is Nimueh so interested in you?” she asked. “And don’t give me some half worked story that you no doubt told Morgana. She’s willing to believe more things than I am and if I find out that you’ve lied to me, there’s nowhere in the whole of Camelot that can hide you.”

It was a test, Merlin knew, and he rose to the challenge, meeting Morgause’s eyes without fear or regret.

“Because she’s afraid of me,” he said simply, as it was the honest truth. Merlin knew too much, was too powerful, and it scared Nimueh enough for her to take action against him.

Morgause laughed, shaking her head in amusement. “What is there to be afraid of? That you’re an unchecked sorcerer in the City? There’s more than one of those and she’s never been this ruthless.”

She sat back in her chair, arms slipping from the table, as she regarded Merlin casually, digging out the truth.

“I know about what they’re doing to the thousands of people in the Tower. I know that they’re using the Obsidian circle and the last dragon to force magic from those people. I know that they hunt and kill refugee children without any remorse,” Merlin said, voice low as he leant forwards.

“You don’t think that I know that? Anyone let into the sorcerers is told that, made to sign pacts of allegiance stating they’d never reveal that publically.” Morgause shot Arthur another weighted look. “No one ever expects to leave the sorcerers, because when you do, you’re not on either side. You can’t be in the public because you know the atrocities, but you can’t stay with the people doing it because you chose not to.”

She looked away, “No one likes doing it, Merlin, but we all stood together and got through it, because we were all the same. People with magic who were helping the non-magical people and keeping Camelot alive.”

She smiled bitterly, grimacing as the smile curled. “When I chose to protect Morgana, hide her gifts, I had to turn my back on all the people who accepted me. Do you know how horrible it is to wake up every morning and know the truth, but that you can’t do anything to change it, or even speak about it?”

There was silence for a moment, before Merlin spoke softly.

“I do,” he said. “Every night of my life before I found Arthur.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Arthur start and look at him, but he couldn’t pay mind to that now, not when he needed Morgause to understand what he was doing here and how much they needed her help.

Merlin told her about Ealdor, about thinking he could save everyone because of the Obsidian and how he’d caused everyone to die. He told her about the refugee camps, how many people had simply given up hope and the others who were clinging to it desperately. He then told both her and Arthur about the druids, how they’d told him about his magic and the prophecy, how Aglain had trained him and how others had taken him in, looked after him.

Morgause had been silent when he’d told them that friends were taken during the Pickings, and her face paled when Merlin explained how he’d offered himself up freely, calling for the Police to scan him, capture him when it could well have been the end of his life.

“I woke up inside a cell, something I doubt anyone else is able to.” Merlin looked at Morgause, “Not because they don’t want to, but because I have more magic than they could take out of me.” He shook his head. “I switched places with my guard, which is how Nimueh found out about me… but you knew I’d done that.”

Morgause nodded slowly and Merlin continued, not daring to look at Arthur. He hadn’t told the prince this part of the story yet, of the Pickings and everything that came with it, and he didn’t want to see Arthur’s face just yet.

If Merlin had a choice, he would never have told Morgause all of this. He hadn’t know how difficult getting her help was and, despite what Arthur had said when he’d mentioned the plan first about how tough it would be, realised that now he had to play all his cards, no matter the personal cost.

It didn’t matter that it felt wrong telling someone else these things, someone who wasn’t Arthur, because Merlin had to do it. Morgause had the power to help Gwen and Morgana as well as give them needed information about Nimueh. They needed her on their side, or else she could choose to reveal them to Nimueh.

“I went to talk to the Great Dragon, Kilgharrah,” Merlin said and Morgause arched an eyebrow.

“He spoke to you?” she asked, incredulously.

“My father was a Dragonlord,” Merlin explained, and did look at Arthur this time. “Balinor; he was friends with your mother.”

There were so many little connections between him and Arthur, Merlin was beginning to realise, and wondered if there was someone else the prophecy had mentioned, something everyone had overlooked because they weren’t the person with the magic to right the world. He’d have to read through Arthur’s copy of the Chronicles of Beltane to find out, but there had to be more than just coincidence.

“He was exiled from Camelot when he discovered the truth. He chose not to sign any agreement of silence and he suffered, though he wasn’t the only one who was forced to leave,” Merlin said, looking away and down at his hands on the table.

It would be so easy now, just to say that Ygraine was alive and that everything Arthur knew was an even bigger lie. And Merlin would have, really, except Morgause didn’t need more fuel to the fire against Arthur, and Arthur would likely never forgive him if he blurted out now. So Merlin took the easier way out, choosing only to tell them about Gaius.

“Gaius, the court physician, was also exiled when he learnt the truth,” Merlin said, and Arthur jerked in his chair.

“Then the Gaius I knew and the one you mentioned are the same?” Arthur asked a beat later, remembering one of the conversations they’d had through the Obsidians.

Merlin nodded. “I didn’t know until later,” he said. “Otherwise I would have told you.”

Arthur gave him a look, as if he doubted that Merlin would have, but then shook his head and relaxed in his seat, waiting for the rest of what Merlin had to stay.

“My point is,” Merlin continued, looking at Morgause. “That I am going to stop what Nimueh and the others are doing. I have the power to do it and I have Arthur to help me. Together, we’re going to save every single person who is being tortured in the Tower, and we are going to help the people dying outside of the gates simply because they’re not good enough for Camelot.”

At first, Merlin had assumed it was an issue of space, but now he was in Camelot, now that he’d seen the New World, he realised that that wasn’t the issue at all. There was plenty of space in Camelot itself, and development could be undertaken on the Tower itself, let alone the support towers. There was so much potential, but it had been cast aside because the people on the ground weren’t better than vermin in the eyes of the king and his sorcerers.

“And what we came here for today,” Merlin continued, nodding at Arthur, “Was to see if you would protect people we cared about and help us save those you didn’t get the chance to.”

Merlin knew that Morgause was a good person. She had to be to protect Morgana from living with the same burden that she did. That didn’t mean that she had to help them, though, but Merlin hoped she would.

“You have to leave her as soon as you can,” Morgause said, and Merlin only just refrained from breaking into a smile, hearing the acceptance in her voice.

“And you can’t come here anymore. I’ll find someone to act as a go-between, but we can’t see each other, in public or private. I don’t trust Nimueh and if there’s a way she can find you, she’d use it no matter the cost.” Morgause eyed Arthur heavily for a moment. “That’s how she’s always been,” she said slowly, and Merlin knew that she had at least guessed the truth behind Arthur’s birth.

Still, she shook her head and her eyes cleared, obviously sensing that now wasn’t the time and that it wasn’t her place to be the one to tell Arthur.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, surprising both Merlin and Morgause. “You didn’t have to do this for us and while I know it’s more for Morgana’s sake than ours, we’re still grateful”

For a moment, Morgause didn’t say anything, simply looked at Arthur oddly. Then she half-smiled, acknowledging Arthur with a nod of the head, before she turned to Merlin.

“Morgana will want to know where you are and if you’re alright,” she said, though it sounded as if she thought Morgana was crazy for wanting to know. Merlin didn’t blame her; Morgause clearly cared for her own and her own alone. Merlin was an outsider, Arthur too, and she would never have agreed to do business if Morgana hadn’t been at risk.

“You can tell her I’m safe, and that you’re in contact with me if you want,” Merlin said, standing from the table and looking to Arthur, who rose to follow.

Morgause didn’t show them out, but neither Merlin nor Arthur had expected her to. The bouncer they’d met at the door let them out, and they stepped back into the crowds of Camelot as if they hadn’t just secured their role in starting a revolution.

“I’ll go back to Morgana and Gwen’s now,” Merlin said, though he didn’t want to leave Arthur’s company just yet.

“It would probably be best,” Arthur agreed, though he made no move to say goodbye, and they walked in companionable silence a little more.

“I’ll bring everything I can,” Merlin said as they walked through the square and paused on the bridge. The disembodied voice didn’t float from the well this time, thankfully. “Tomorrow,” Merlin clarified, drawing a nod from Arthur.

“And then we can figure out how to work our way through this mess,” he said, voice tired.

Merlin couldn’t do much but nod to that and watch as Arthur walked over the bridge and away, alone and looking so small compared to the bustle and life of the rest of the City.

Everything had changed for them now, what with Morgause being part of their group, though not properly involved. They now could move around without hurting other people and they had the advantage of finding out more about Nimueh and what she was doing.

Morgana and Gwen had said they’d try to find out what they could, but Merlin didn’t hold much hope that they’d be able to find out much, let alone something important. Arthur had only discovered a partial truth and that had been because he was the prince, able to access all areas freely. Besides, he had accidentally stumbled upon it and Merlin doubted that Nimueh discussed private matters at the time of day that Morgana and Gwen would be there, considering they didn’t live at the castle and spent as little time there as possible.

The journey back to Gwen and Morgana’s was slow, with the bustling, busy people shoving and pushing at Merlin as he walked down the pavement, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time.

He still had a lot to tell Arthur. Merlin hadn’t fully explained about the magic and Pickings, and while Morgause would understand how it was done, Arthur wouldn’t. And there was still the matter of Ygraine to disclose, but Merlin didn’t know how to approach the subject.

It was clear that Arthur wasn’t his father’s man, but that didn’t matter when he’d spent his whole life raised by the man and dictated by him. Arthur still loved his father, still respected him on most levels and still saw him as his king. Merlin knew that from spending just two days in his company.

Everything was a mess and Merlin was right in the centre of it all. There was too much in his head, too much crammed into a tiny space, and he knew that he had to get it all out soon or he’d drive himself to insanity with the weight of it all.

Morgana and Gwen were home when Merlin entered, and Morgana fixed him with a stern look.

“You were supposed to be home,” she said, remarkably like Morgause. Merlin was tired of it all though, having to conceal the truth from so many people and bargain with others. He shook his head and said, “I just wanted some fresh air,” and walking to his room.

He barely got through his doorway when he heard Gwen chiding Morgana, and he couldn’t help but smile. After changing into comfier clothes, he re-joined the girls and took a plate of offered food, following them into the sitting room and hunkering down on the sofa.

“We didn’t find anything,” Gwen said, after the silence became too heavy to be comfortable any longer. Morgana sniffed on the other side of the sofa, pointedly ignoring Merlin as he grimaced.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, taking a mouthful of dinner and plastering a smile on his face as he chewed. “Why don’t we just enjoy the evening? Tomorrow I promise I’ll tell you everything… I won’t even take a walk or whatever.”

Gwen’s face instantly brightened and Merlin looked at Morgana, keeping his smile and keeping his face placid, hoping that she’d buy it too. She scrutinised him for a moment before she nodded, satisfied with Merlin’s idea.

“Fine, but I expect you to tell us the whole truth tomorrow.” She smiled, mood lifting. “We did have quite a hard day,” she admitted, rolling her eyes at Gwen. “Arthur’s been slacking recently and it’s sent Uther into a rage. I mean, I know he’s the prince and thinks he’s the best in the world, but he didn’t even give an excuse as to why he skipped out on his duties today.”

Morgana shook her head. “Always was an arrogant prat,” she mumbled and Gwen sighed, setting her fork on the side of her plate.

“Not this again. Seriously, whenever you’re not at each other’s throats, you’re calling names behind each other’s backs. It’s juvenile, really,” Gwen chided, looking to Merlin as if seeking support.

“Um, sure,” he said. “Though I don’t know Arthur,” he added, hoping to turn the conversation to their tryst and exploit the embarrassment, distancing himself from Arthur for possible places he’d gone to hide when he left the next day.

Morgana took the bait, grinning widely like the cat that’d got the cream.

“I’m sure you know Arthur better than either of us,” she said, smirking. “Don’t try and deny it, though I love how pink he gets,” she added, turning to Gwen.

Gwen, who was supposed to be the kind one and defender of Merlin, laughed. “Oh come on, leave him alone. He gets embarrassed enough as it is, imagine if he actually saw Arthur again?”

Thank you, Merlin thought.

“That’s true. I think sirens would erupt if Merlin ever saw him again.” Morgana’s smile turned kinder as she looked back at Merlin. “We’re only teasing you,” she said, patting his leg.

They spent the rest of the evening watching films on TV, of complex action scenes and story plots that Merlin couldn’t quite grasp, not having grown up in a Sky City. Morgana and Gwen tried their best to explain, but there were only so many questions that you could ask before people got annoyed and told you to shut up and watch the film.

They went to bed late, Merlin savouring every moment he could, knowing that everything would change in the morning, even if Gwen and Morgana didn’t sense it over breakfast. He packed the few belongings he had into a rucksack that had been in the corner of the room, making sure he had the clothes Morgana had given him as well as the shirts he’d taken from Arthur. He kept one out to wear the next day, somehow wanting the tiny connection to Arthur to make sure he went through with leaving.

As he lay back in bed that night, Merlin wondered, for the first time in ages, about the future. Tomorrow night he’d be at Arthur’s, probably on the sofa, and they’d be a step closer to fulfilling an age-old prophecy. One more step closer to defying everything Camelot had been built upon and closer to Merlin discovering what the choice he’d have to make was.

It didn’t scare him, or at least not yet, because he had no idea what it involved. There was so much more to get through before all of that, that Merlin couldn’t worry about a choice that was in the future. He had to worry about Morgana and Gwen, hope that Morgause would keep Nimueh’s attention away from them and hope that he and Arthur could find a way to help everyone who was suffering.

He fell asleep shortly after that, gripping one of Arthur’s shirts in his hand.

**.**

By the time Merlin woke up, Gwen and Morgana had already gone. There was a note left on the kitchen counter – flashing on the work surface, a far cry from a pen and paper message Merlin would have expected – that said they’d see him later, when they’d all talk.

He felt guilty for leaving, but Merlin couldn’t afford to stay. Besides, now that they had struck a bargain with Morgause, Merlin couldn’t double back on his side of the argument. He had to move forwards now, move forwards and step next to Arthur, where they could change the world for the better.

He slunk from the house with a single rucksack, feeling like a thief. It was relatively early in the morning and the crowds throughout Camelot were thinner than usual, most of the public plugged into their offices and work stations, racking up points for the stock market and keeping the City ticking over.

When he arrived at Arthur’s, Merlin entered the code for the door and slid in, sighing in relief he hadn’t known he’d been craving as the door slid shut behind him. Since learning that Nimueh knew about him, Merlin felt slightly nervous in the open, preferring company to hide behind, should it come to that.

And, for some reason, being in Arthur’s house felt right. Merlin felt as though he belonged there, as if their purpose was being met simply by living in the same house.

He dumped his bag off at the end of the sofa, walking to Arthur’s bedroom where the books were kept, stacked on a wall-long shelf. For someone who had never seen so many books, it was amazing to see them all neatly lines up, in pristine condition and undamaged by the elements.

Merlin walked around the large bed, plain white sheets, boring and opposite to Arthur’s nature, and rested the tips of his fingers on the bedside table, planted between the shelf and the bed, balancing slightly as his eyes skimmed over titles. He looked up and down, occasionally plucking a book from its spot to place it on the bed, before doing another scan of the shelves and selecting a few more volumes.

With his stack of treasure, Merlin walked back to the living room, placing his pile on the table and lying stomach-down on the cushions to start reading.

The first book he’d picked was a history of the royal family, from the time of the Great Flood to present day. Merlin flicked through the pages, skimming information about Arthur’s ancestors, stopping at the page for the current king and frowning as the book detailed his life and achievements.

While it was true that Uther had revolutionised the production of electricity, installing solar technology and planting wind farms on the tips of the towers, he’d most likely only done that because it was the last option left. No one else had taken those measures, but that was because the imbalance between magic and the New World hadn’t been so prevalent.

There was a picture of a young, smiling woman on one of the pages and Merlin traced his finger over the page, smiling at how free and beautiful Ygraine looked.

“Childhood friend of Uther, the woman who would grow up to become the beloved Queen Ygraine,” Merlin read, shaking his head slightly as he thought of the lonely woman miles and miles below him. Where was she in this woman’s future?

The book gave a brief overview of her supposed death, a paragraph that explained she became ill months after her son was born, a complication from the birth ruled as the major cause of death. People had mourned, Uther was wracked with grief, but he bravely pulled onwards, pushing everything into saving Camelot.

There was a tiny picture of Arthur, just a small child, but he had the same, lost look on his face. Merlin’s heart twinged at the sight of the lost little boy, a scruffy horse doll clenched in one of his hands and a loneliness far beyond his years evident in his eyes, even through the paper of the photograph.

“Oh Arthur,” Merlin said softly. In all of his books, all of the fairy tales and games he’d played back on Ealdor, the prince had been a treasured character. The prince had been the happiest, bravest character, the one whom everyone loved and always, always had the happy ending.

But being a real prince wasn’t anything like the games or the stories. Arthur had suffered at his father’s hand, from never having enough friends or attention, instead striving to be the perfect model of an adult that his father had wanted, but a child should never be. It was no doubt that Arthur didn’t have anyone close; Merlin had read enough from the book to see Uther was a man who preferred his distance. Arthur would have copied that, learnt from it, and it had destroyed his blooming relationships with children of his own age.

Merlin placed the book back on the table, rolling onto his side as he picked another one up, tracing the cover lazily and whispering the title.

“Mykonos,” he said, the words coloured gold and sweeping over the cover.

It was a story, Merlin realised, as he flipped the page over and looked through names of people and places, of gods and monsters and epic battles fought and lost. There were so few stories left in the New World – and Merlin should know that as he’d asked Gwen and Morgana once, but Morgana had rolled her eyes saying that the only stories were the tales Uther told to appease the Court – that Merlin knew this was a rare treasure.

The pages were dog-eared and a few still folded slightly. It was clearly a favourite of Arthur’s, and Merlin held the little book tightly, skimming through the backstory of gods and their eternal struggles.

When he was done, Merlin lay back on the sofa, the book resting on his chest, heart beating heavily in his chest, not quite knowing why it struck him so deeply.

The story had been between gods and titans, forces of nature itself, and staged upon the titular island of Mykonos. The struggle had been a choice between family, of revenge and cruelty, of nature and its whims. It was completely different to Merlin and Arthur’s fate, yet so eerily similar at the same time.

Arthur would have to fight his family. There was no maybes or ifs, he would have to do it now that he’d aligned himself with Merlin. Merlin had already battled the elements and found that he could tame them, chain them to his will and force them to let him pass where all else would have failed. They echoed the gods of the story in a horrific manner, one that Merlin never would have wanted to admit.

The story wasn’t beautiful, unlike the stories of his childhood. Those stories had been built upon ‘once upon a times’ and ‘happily ever afters’. The struggle Mykonos had placed wasn’t one that was over, and had shadowed consequences later. This would be true for their battle and Camelot. Whatever happened, whether they succeeded or failed, Camelot would never be the same after.

Merlin let the book rest on the sofa and he buried his face in his hands. It seemed as though the whole thing would never be over, even before they’d properly started. The world crashed down on all of them and yet there was nothing Merlin could do, yet anyway.

The principles were simple. Free the people taken during Pickings, use magic to repair and meld the electrical-magical systems and open the gates for those who needed a home.

Of course, those were just the principles. How they could free the people, Merlin did not know, and he hadn’t even covered the subject of fortifying the City. He was powerful, yes, but he didn’t have enough magic to covert the whole of Camelot, Merlin knew, could feel that fact in his chest.

He threw the book on the table, small and thin compared to the other volumes Merlin had brought out. It truly was a pathetic object in comparison, but the word had struck him deeply in ways that the other books wouldn’t. if there were such things as prophecies and oracles, this book – read so many times by Arthur and singled out by Merlin – could have a bigger meaning, foreshadowing their own battles perhaps.

In the end, the gods won against the forces of nature. If it foreshadowed their fight, Merlin realised that he would have to choose between the gods – Arthur, so, very clearly it had to be Arthur – and the titans, the magic and nature he had always had by his side. It was the choice, Merlin understood, that he’d have to make, the choice that could either save the world or throw it into further chaos.

Still, that time was not now, and Merlin pushed himself up off of the sofa and walked into the kitchen. Since the last time he’d been there, Arthur had restocked his cupboards with proper food, so Merlin made himself a plain sandwich, something New World-y, but tasted like chicken, and returned to the sofa, switching on the TV and submerging himself in bland, monotonous shows.

When Arthur returned home, it had passed midday and was creeping onto early evening. He looked tired and stopped when he entered the lounge, looking at Merlin in slight surprise, before his wits caught up with him and he nodded, smiling a little too stiffly for it to be real.

“You managed to get away then,” he commented lightly, moving into his bedroom. The door half-closed and Merlin heard the tell-tale rustlings of someone changing, so politely kept his gaze fixed on the television and not, not, letting his eyes drift to the door of the bedroom in hope.

“It was surprisingly easy,” Merlin said as Arthur reappeared, hair dishevelled and dressed in plain clothes. “For all they went on about it, I was half-convinced they’d shackle me to a table or something.”

It was intended as a joke, and Merlin smiled weakly, but the words didn’t quite reach their potential, the pair of them too caught up in the seriousness of it all.

Arthur joined him on the sofa, side-eyeing the books Merlin had been flicking through.

“My family history?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why Merlin,” he said, with faux-surprise “I didn’t know you cared.”

Merlin grunted, a small smile slipping onto his face. “I like to do my research before shacking up with a stranger,” he replied as Arthur slung an arm across the back of the sofa cushions. “You know, in case they turn out to be a psycho with hidden agendas and all.”

“Hidden agendas,” Arthur deadpanned, before he gave a shark bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You’re one of a kind,” he said a moment later, looking at Merlin as if he was something more, something greater.

Shrugging the compliment off, Merlin shifted in his seat, turning so he could see Arthur a little better, the conversation drawing down to business again.

“Yesterday I mentioned the Stones and the Pickings,” he began, looking at Arthur to see if he was following what he was saying. Comprehension was clear in his eyes, so Merlin continued.

“I’m going to explain it properly, so you can understand why it’s so terrible,” Merlin said.

“I know why it’s terrible,” Arthur shot back, frowning slightly. Merlin nodded, but didn’t back down.

“You do,” he agreed, “But you have to understand, not just know. The only way that you can help them is if you know exactly what they’re going through, and so I have to tell you every detail.”

Arthur looked as if he was about to disagree, then thought better of it, simply nodding and waiting for Merlin to continue.

“I’m different to every other sorcerer there is,” Merlin began with a wry smile, “But even so, I know what magic is like, what it feels like.”

“What does it feel like?” Arthur interrupted quietly, glancing at Merlin.

“It’s…” Merlin started, then realised he couldn’t quite explain it. “I can’t explain,” he admitted, and Arthur’s face visibly fell.

“But,” he hurried on, “I think I can show you what it feels like, if you want.”

Arthur’s eyes were wide and clear blue as he looked at Merlin in surprise.

“Show me?” he parroted dumbly. Merlin nodded.

“Here, give me your hand,” and Arthur gave him his hand, their palms slipping together with ease.

Merlin took the hand, pressing it palm-first to his chest, exactly in the centre where he felt the ball of magic coil warmly. He didn’t even have to think for his magic to react, the ball bubbling happily at the contact, surging up to meet Arthur.

At this proximity, Merlin could feel the latent magic inside of Arthur. It was the magic that had helped to create him, still there in his veins, almost completely dormant yet unsullied. It gave a slight twitch of interest as Merlin’s own magic flowed into Arthur, but accepted the foreign power with ease, letting it pass into Arthur and fill him up.

“How does that feel?” Merlin asked, the connection between them stronger than it had ever been.

“It’s…” Arthur said, mirroring Merlin’s earlier words with awe in his voice. “Unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”

They remained like that, connected deeper than touch would ever let them, for a few minutes more. In those minutes, Merlin felt the lethargic swirl of Arthur’s magic as it moved through him, curiously yet sluggish. It felt different to his own magic, but just as wonderful, with just as much potential and something that could only be described as Arthur contained in it.

But, as with so any things, the connection had to end, and their magic separated reluctantly as Arthur removed his hand from Merlin, and Merlin pulled his magic back into the ball in his chest. It had been an experience, but it couldn’t last.

“The people you call sorcerers have enough magic to get by and use themselves, even if they can’t do much with it,” Merlin said calmly. “The people they take for the Pickings have only a fraction of the magic the sorcerers have and almost all of them have no idea it’s there at all.”

“So they can’t use it,” Arthur said slowly, “Can’t feel it?”

Merlin shook his head. “They’re taken from their families, made unconscious where they remain for the rest of their lives.” He looked down, sickened by the thought of how many people he’d had to leave behind even though he’d been so close, so near to them.

Arthur was silent for a moment, considering his words. “How can it be taken from them then?” It wasn’t said accusingly, just curiously, as Arthur openly admitted that he didn’t understand and wanted to know everything he could.

“The Stone Circle is the sorcerer’s main channel of power. It’s connected to everything; the earth, the City, the people even.” Merlin sighed lightly, “The sorcerers twist the Circle, warp its power and channel it into the cubicles the refugees are lying in. They chained it to the dragon’s magic, the Great Dragon, down in the very earth itself, so that the magic passes through and pulls any trace of magic out, no matter how deep down or small it is.”

That was Merlin’s understanding of how it worked. It wasn’t fully comprehensive, due to the fact that he had never seen the Circle or felt the connections when he’d been down in the cubicle, but it was what made sense from everything he’d been told and seen so far.

“They have to renew the spells more often now,” Merlin continued, voice quiet. “The magic is wearing off and dying, but it’s not because it’s being eradicated.”

“You said magic wanted to be used,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin. “But if it wants to be used, then why are their spells ineffective?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted freely. “But I think it’s because what they’ve done is twisted. Nimueh is messing with a Circle that has survived for centuries and will keep on surviving long after we’re all gone. She’s playing with the elements of the earth and hasn’t bothered to make sure that they were compatible.”

He paused, trying to think of a clearer explanation. “It’s like oil and water,” he began, thinking of the large pools of oil that had often floated on the waters around Ealdor. “Magic and electricity can’t mix together in the way that Nimueh and the other sorcerers want. I’ve felt it, there are two pathways that will never be able to merge and it’s slowly destroying the City.”

Merlin ran a hand through his hair, shifting in his seat until his feet were resting on the floor and his forearms rested on his thighs. His head was downcast, shoulders heavy with expectation and doing what was right.

“From the beginning, magic was used to build the Tower. Everyone knows that,” he said, and Arthur gave a light grunt in agreement. “But that magic is fading, has faded, because it’s not connected to the earth and can’t connect to the natural magic all around us.”

He stopped, shaking his head slightly, trying to un-jumble all the injustices and the wrongs that their ancestors had begun.

“And that’s why they steal the magic,” Arthur said, though it wasn’t a question, but a fact.

Merlin nodded.

“But if that’s the case,” Arthur murmured, voice low, “Then what can we do to stop it? The magic won’t just connect; they would have tried that before going to the trouble to warp the Stones, surely?”

Shrugging, Merlin replied, “I don’t know what they did. All I know is that magic and electricity can be made compatible, and through that I’m sure the Tower can be reinforced. With the right conduit and the right amount of power, it can be linked back down to the earth and use that as a natural resource.”

He hadn’t said it, but Merlin knew that Arthur understood what he was saying. It would be possible, because Merlin would do it. He had done it, on a much smaller degree and only as a test, but it was proof that it could be done. Magic and the New World could merge together, and Merlin would be the one to do it.

“So you can do it?” Arthur asked, focusing solely on Merlin. “You can save them all?”

“It’s what I was prophesised to do,” he said, with a lilt of sarcasm. “And it’s what I crossed the Ocean for. I have to at least try,” he continued, looking at Arthur with bright eyes. “They have my mother down there, and my friends.”

“Gaius too,” Arthur said, having picked that up from the conversation with Morgause, and Merlin nodded sadly.

“It’s the only way we can make Camelot safe for all of those people on the ground. When the Tower is reinforced, we can build again, make it bigger for all of those who need a home.” Merlin’s voice was hopeful, almost pleading for Arthur to accept it and agree. After all, he couldn’t do this without Arthur, just as Arthur couldn’t do without Merlin.

“So what do we do now?” Merlin asked a moment later, when Arthur hadn’t replied. Arthur was frowning, jaw clenched and hands mashed together, knuckles white.

“You said that we need to find a way to merge the pathways, combine the magic and electricity rather than force them to work together?” Arthur asked quietly, gaze sliding over Merlin.

“It’s the only way I can think of that we can save the Tower,” Merlin replied. “If enough magic was poured into the channels that run throughout the City, I believe you can root the Tower to the ground and to the natural magic in the earth.”

Arthur looked amazed at the prospect, and Merlin smiled slightly, glad he understood where Merlin was going. If they could root the Tower to the ancient magic in the earth, there wouldn’t be a need to renew spells, no need to keep thousands of people locked up as slaves and no need to worry about stealing their magic. The energy from the earth would flow through the Tower, powering the structure and reinforcing it.

Merlin knew that sorcerers would still be needed to check that the sources were flowing correctly, but it meant that magic wasted in trapping children and sucking their souls could be sent on building Camelot, opening the doors to those camped on the ground. And if Camelot ran out of space, who was to say that the support towers couldn’t be changed, smaller Cities being built on the tops of them, all interlinking to Camelot.

Both Merlin and Arthur could envision this new City, and they drew into thicker discussion, time passing quietly outside as they smiled and gestured along with their ideas, planning a better, greater world than the one they lived in right now.

It wasn’t until Arthur pulled back from where they’d navigated together, legs pressed together and heads bent low, checking the clock and making a small sound of surprise.

“Wow,” he said, and Merlin followed his gaze to the clock on the wall, eyebrows arching as he noticed how late it was.

Dinner was a quiet affair, almost hurried, and after that came Arthur’s simple announcement he was going to bed. For a moment, he stood between where Merlin sat on the sofa and the kitchen, looking to his bedroom door and then the sofa, looking for all the world that he’d invite Merlin in. A second later, though, he shook his head and looked down, saying that he’d fetch some blankets and a pillow.

Disappointment rose up in Merlin, even though he knew that they shouldn’t do anything. They’d already done too much, and that had been under the influence of alcohol. They were friend, allies, and nothing more, no matter what his magic may want.

Arthur returned a moment later with, true to his word, a set of blankets and a pillow. He shifted his weight on his feet, handing the materials to Merlin without a word.

“Well,” Merlin began, desperately reaching for the companionable atmosphere that had clouded them before this. “Good night then.”

Nothing more was said as Arthur walked into his room, closing the door soundly behind himself. Merlin set the blankets on the sofa and plumped up the pillow, trying and failing not to think about Arthur.

The problem was, Merlin couldn’t quite remember what it had been like to be with Arthur. He could remember snatches – the darkness of the night as they’d stumbled, the warmth of Arthur’s breath against his throat and the frantic rush they’d been in – but it wasn’t enough. Now that he had to be here with Arthur, and only Arthur now, Merlin couldn’t help but want more.

It certainly didn’t help that his magic felt as though it deserved more, wanting to curl against Arthur and seep into him, relax him and soothe away his worries. Merlin couldn’t let it though, because if he let his magic slip through just once, it would never be enough.

Merlin sighed and rolled over, tucking an arm under his head. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about Arthur that he needed. His magic could sense that and it was only common sense holding Merlin back. He could remember what Morgana and Gwen had said about Arthur not having taken anyone home for a while and knew that his magic had swayed the prince. It hadn’t forced him, but it had interested Arthur beyond what he would normally feel, and that made Merlin dangerous, to an extent.

He needed to focus on Aglain’s teachings to control his magic, rather than rely on Arthur and what his magic wanted. And then, perhaps when all this was over…

Merlin felt the Obsidian against his heart and closed his eyes, slipping easily into sleep for the first time in a long while, content that he was striding towards his destiny.

**.**

It was three days before Merlin finally snapped. It was morning and Arthur was pouring over some papers his father had left for him, something about power shortages in part of the City, and Merlin had just finished the bland food that was his usual breakfast now.

“I need to get out of here,” he said, pacing in the space between lounge and kitchen.

Arthur paused in his reading, looking up at Merlin with his hair tousled and eyes narrowed slightly from waking up not too long ago.

“Out?” he asked, “even with what Morgause said about Nimueh?”

Morgause had dutifully been in contact, through an alias of course, and informed them that Nimueh’s behaviour of late had been erratic and unpredictable. She’d pressed them to be cautious, warning them multiple times of the risk they would be taking if they left their security, and Merlin bit his lip, considering the pros and cons.

“I know it might be dangerous,” he began, and Arthur raised an eyebrow, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip. “But I’m going to go crazy if I have to stay here much longer. Do you know how boring television is in the day? I don’t think I can take anymore stock exchange reports or how to enhance your looks with cosmetic surgery.”

Arthur gave a huff of laughter before he drew back to seriousness, noting the annoyance Merlin had to be projecting by now.

“I have to review these this morning, so maybe you can help,” he began and Merlin frowned, it not quite being the answer he’d expected. “But how about we do lunch or something? I’d rather stick together if you want to go out. Nimueh will be risking treason if she wanted to do something to me, but you’re unknown.”

Merlin nodded a little shakily, knowing it was the truth. Though he should feel a little sad he couldn’t be alone – he was an Islander, one who had enjoyed walking the rugged beaches when he could – Merlin wanted to be with Arthur, and so the reply was easy.

“Lunch it is then,” he said with a smile.

They poured over the reports and Arthur jotted down some ideas for his father down. When the time came to leave the house, they slipped through Arthur’s section of the City and hit the main streets, merging in with everyday life.

The weather in Camelot was good that morning, artificial sky bright and sunny. Merlin missed the open skies and winds, yes, but he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy the lumen-sun. It was just as warm as any real sun and there was also comfort in knowing that, unlike the true elements, he was safe under its rays. It wasn’t real, as with so much of this City, and it was one less thing to worry about going wrong.

“Here,” Arthur said, interrupting Merlin’s thoughts as they paused on the pavement. Sunlight caught Arthur’s hair, and Merlin offered a small smile, probably a bit too wide and a bit too stupid, but Arthur smiled back and that was what mattered.

“It’s not the traditional restaurant you’ll fine in the City,” he added, opening the door and letting Merlin pass through into the comfortable bubble of a busy restaurant. “But it’s a favourite of mine. The food’s good and so’s the service.”

It was a nice restaurant, and as the staff recognised who Arthur was – being prince did have some benefits after all – they were ushered to a private table, right in the heart of the restaurant. Service came at once, menus presented in pomp and drinks ordered without any fuss. While Merlin hadn’t been to any restaurant aside from the Restaurant where he’d met Gwen, he could tell that this wasn’t the usual experience for average subjects in Camelot.

They chose their lunches, Arthur often explaining what the meals were to Merlin, and ordered easily. Just when everything was going well, Merlin relaxing into the afternoon and narrowing his world down to Arthur (without the saving-the-world issues), a woman walked by and Arthur stiffened at once.

She turned on her heel, wearing sunglasses and a hat that covered a large portion of her face, but it did nothing to hide the wide smile across her face.

The woman sat down at the table, tipping the unnecessary glasses up onto the crown of her head, smirking at Merlin before she turned her attention to Arthur. Beside him, Merlin felt Arthur tense, and he wondered who the woman was.

"Arthur," she greeted casually, before her eyes flicked to Merlin. "Merlin," she greeted again, and Merlin felt shock course through him, knowing there was only one person she could be.

As the realisation hit, Merlin felt his magic react too, defensive yet probing, trying to connect with Nimueh's, testing her instinctively. He reeled most of his power back, hoping that she wouldn't notice exactly how much of an influence she had caused over him and his magic. She didn't need to know how much of a potential threat to him she was.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur whispered, leaning across the table. He was trying not to draw attention to them, but failing.

While the staff at the café had been respectful of the prince wanting a bit of privacy, seeing the prince and the best sorceress in Camelot together, along with a completely unknown man, was evidently something of interest. A few of the staff would walk past, trying not to stare too hard at their table and failing miserably, while other patrons were shooting pointed glances, trying to be coy and, again, failing.

"Can I not enjoy lunch with some friends?" Nimueh asked, pseudo-politely, gesturing to one of the passing waiters to take her order. They snapped to attention and there was a tense break in the conversation as Nimueh reeled off her order, turning back to Merlin and Arthur with the same, half-mocking smile on her lips.

"I suppose," Arthur said, "If we were your friends. And considering everything you've done, I really don't think that's going to happen anytime soon."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether he should say anything. Here was the woman he'd been warned about multiple times, yet she was nothing like he'd expected. She was younger, for starters, but seemed far more dangerous that even Ygraine's warnings had prepared him for.

"Perhaps," she commented lightly, "But I'm not too concerned with you."

The waiter returned with her drink - just a glass of water, ice and a straw, simple - and she thanked him, smiling too widely for Merlin's comfort. When the waiter left, she crossed her legs, shifting her weight until Merlin found himself under Nimueh's direct stare.

"I'm more interested in finding out everything there is to know about your friend Merlin here." She was so casual, so relaxed, that, if Merlin didn't know of the terrible things she had done, he would fall under her sway at once.

"Really," he said darkly, not waiting for Arthur to step in. He hadn't stood up for what was right before and it had cost him two of his friends, this time, no matter what, he'd stand up for himself and make his point.

"Really," Nimueh repeated, smiling again, as if Merlin would grow to trust her based on what her lips did.

"Nimueh," Arthur started, voice low and furious, but he was interrupted by their food arriving.

Arthur hadn't been lying when he said this place was different to most restaurants in Camelot. It was a homage, in a way, to the restaurants of the past and it was people, not technology, that carried their food out. It was a refreshing welcome, as well as postponing whatever Nimueh was planning, and Merlin thanked the waiter thoroughly.

They were left a moment later with their food and each other’s company once more, and Nimueh wasted no time in tucking into her food as she spoke.

"I've been watching you for a long time," she began, "Longer than you realise."

Neither Merlin nor Arthur had touched their food yet, but Merlin's stomach growled and he gave in, copying in Nimueh.

"You re-run tests on me when I'd been Picked," Merlin replied simply, taking a bite of his lunch.

"I did," she confirmed, "But do you think that was the first time we took notice of you?" she snorted and Merlin looked at her, frowning.

"After the stunt you pulled, you had half of the sorcerers wanting to bring you into Camelot there and then and the other half scared out of their minds that you were going to bring us crashing down to our knees a moment later." Nimueh took another bite, drawing the tension out for as long as she could.

"What stunt?" Merlin grated out, setting his cutlery on the table. Arthur was still tensed by his side, but he was still there, which was an immense relief.

"Your glowing stunt. Imaginative, sparked a feud as to whether you could really harmonise magic like the Chronicles of Beltane suggested or whether you were fear mongering, just using a spell for the glow." She looked bored, as if this whole conversation was nothing more than commentary on the weather.

"Most of the sorcerers convinced themselves it was fear mongering, but I know your potential. I know who your father was, and I know he'd seen something in the Obsidians." Nimueh placed her fork down, leaning across the table to Merlin. "He told me that someone would come along and they'd destroy everything that I'd built up and save Camelot, all in one stride. But you're just a child," she said, offhandedly. "A powerful child I'll admit, but a child all the same."

Her eyes were piercing as she looked at Merlin. "Which is why I wanted to offer you the chance to join us."

Merlin's eyes widened and he heard the sharp intake of breath from Arthur by his side. Nimueh wasn't done, though, for she added,

"Think of all the things you can learn. Our sorcerers have knowledge even books could not contain, basic and elemental teachings that were passed on through word of mouth only. You'd be a fool to turn that down." She shook her head, as if anyone opposed to her way of thinking would even dare say it to her face.

"We can teach you how to use the Obsidians," she added, looking back at him. "The ultimate testament of power, to control them at your will and have the whole of Camelot in your palm."

For a second, Merlin considered the offer. Not in the way of what Nimueh was saying made any sense, but because he might be able to use the opportunity to his advantage. If he could work from the inside to take down Nimueh…

But no. The notion was scrapped from his mind as Arthur shifted in his seat. He couldn’t leave Arthur like that, not when their plans were beginning to take full form. He was staying with Arthur, even if it meant more hard work in the end.

“That’s not what I want,” Merlin said, looking down to his food. “And besides, you have nothing to offer me that I do not have already.”

That was probably a lie, because he didn’t know everything and even Gaius’ spell book had to have limitations, but Nimueh didn’t need to know that. In fact, Merlin would prefer it if Nimueh thought of him as an already trained sorcerer without, well, the actual trained part.

“I can use the Obsidian,” he said simply. “I began using it without any training at all.”

Nimueh arched an eyebrow. “And you’re certain that you’ve learnt all there is to know?” her voice was taunting, but Merlin didn’t rise for the bait, looking at Arthur instead.

“We’re covered,” he said, drawing a small smile from Arthur. “But thank you.”

Nimueh’s face turned stony and cold as she drew back from the table.

“You’ll regret it,” she said, “Because no matter what you might have been told down in the Wastelands, you’re no hero. You may have power, but you have no idea how to use it.”

She rose from the table, gracefully and not a hint of the spiteful woman Merlin knew her to be. She’d perfected her public persona, never once stepping outside of helpful sorceress who was saving Camelot despite the odds. Looking at her now, Merlin knew they could never work together.

“If you change your mind,” she began, but Merlin just shook his head.

“I’m not going to, no matter what.” Merlin’s voice was firm and he could feel Arthur’s stare boring into him. “No matter what you offer, my place is by Arthur’s side.”

And how true that was, and would remain that way until all of this was over. Past it all, if Merlin had his way, truth be told.

Nimueh gave Merlin a once over, frowning as she pulled her glasses back down, stepping out of the café with grace, as if she hadn’t just been prepared to strike a deal and destroy Merlin and Arthur’s plans against her.

“Camelot’s a strange place,” Merlin muttered, turning to look at Arthur. His eyes were still fixed on the door, but he broke out of the trance and offered Merlin a small smile.

“It probably is for simpletons like you,” he said with no hint of malice, bumping their shoulders together companionably.

They finished their lunch soon after, leaving the café unshaken by Nimueh’s appearance and the fact she’d been tracking Merlin for longer than they’d realised. Even though she knew of Merlin’s power, she hadn’t accepted it and that would work well for their advantage. Merlin wasn’t going to underestimate Nimueh, but it was almost certain that she would be underestimating him.

Although he knew it wasn’t the smart thing to do, with Nimueh having met him already, Merlin wanted to see Morgana and Gwen again. He missed them, even though he had Arthur now, but knew that it was a fruitless wish. Even though Nimueh knew about him, association with Emrys could get Morgana and Gwen hurt. Morgause had been very clear about that and Merlin wasn’t going to hurt his friends on a whim.

“We can walk through the private gardens in the palace,” Arthur offered, breaking into Merlin’s thoughts, almost as if he knew when Merlin needed distracting.

“I thought the queen’s garden was in the Tower itself,” Merlin said, brow furrowing.

“It is,” Arthur nodded. “But these are smaller gardens. More for display than a true purpose, but they’re attractive enough and there’s the added bonus that the plants are real.”

Merlin smiled, eyebrows shooting up in amazement. It didn’t matter what kind of plants they were, Merlin’s repertoire or real-life spottings of plants consisted of gnarled trees in the Wastelands and the scrubby flora back on Ealdor. Neither had been attractive, but if this was a garden designed to be impressive, then Merlin was sure there had to be splashes of colour and fragrant flowers.

The City fell into step around them once more, unaware they had just met with Nimueh and were planning to bring the monarchy to its heels. It was comforting to know that, despite everything, the world was normal, calm and running as per usual.

Together, they walked to the castle, Arthur being sure to take the lesser crowded ways, hiding Merlin from general view. Despite Nimueh being open, Arthur didn't want to take any chance, and Merlin wasn't about to argue with that.

The gardens were on the eastern side of the castle, closeted in their own little biosphere habitats. They were separated with doors, and when the first of the doors opened to one of the rooms, Merlin felt a rush of natural air, far more natural than he'd felt since he first came to Camelot, overwhelm him.

The flowers weren’t extraordinary, muted colours of beiges and pinks, but they were beautiful nonetheless. Merlin left Arthur’s side at once, bending down to see if they were fragrant, and caught a slight wiff of them, delight clear on his face as he turned to face Arthur.

“These are beautiful,” he said, drawing a smile from Arthur. The prince came to stand by Merlin’s side, fingers reaching for one of the stems, when the door leading to another room opened and a man strode in, long, leather coat wrapping around his knees as he walked forwards. He gave a slight start when he noticed Merlin and Arthur, and stopped where he stood, acknowledging Arthur and giving Merlin a dirty look.

“Arthur,” he greeted, voice warm yet far too polite.

“Father,” Arthur replied in the same tone and Merlin’s eyes widened, bowing his head instantly in respect. He wasn’t sure if they still bowed to kings in Camelot, but surely it couldn’t help.

“I thought you were running through the reports on building work in the lower towns? We can’t afford to lose the power supply down there and it’s looking to fail soon.” Again, Uther shot Merlin another cold glare, as if it were his fault Arthur wasn’t doing his task.

In truth, Arthur had completed the plans before they’d set out, over breakfast, saying that they should find a way to fuse the electrical and magical connections together in one channel, rather than the duel-system that ran through the city and try it out there firs if possible. Arthur had paused over his cereal thoughtfully and jotted down some notes, thanking Merlin, but they couldn’t reveal that much to Uther without blowing their much needed cover.

“This is a specialist,” Arthur said, lying through his teeth to his father. “I asked for his help on the project because I wanted to consider merging the two systems into one, both magical and electrical. I believe,” Arthur continued, “that we could benefit greatly from it, having a larger power supply bolstered, plus it would give the advantage of reinforcing-“

“Enough,” Uther interrupted, raising a hand. He sighed wearily, “We’ve had this conversation before Arthur, we don’t have the magic to merge the two systems. It’s never been done before, only hypothesised, and even the greatest sorcerers have never been able to complete the task.”

His eyes strayed to Merlin once more. “No matter what kind of specialist,” he said, with heavy emphasis on the word ‘specialist’, “You have at your disposal, it won’t be enough. I expect your proper report in a few days’ time,” Uther finished, sidestepping around them, making it clear his point was absolute and there was nothing they could do to change that.

Merlin took a moment to look at Arthur, noticing that his shoulders were slightly slumped. How many times had Uther shot down his son’s ideas, not even willing to discuss possibilities. Did the king even know the intelligence his son possessed, that he was the one who would be able to find a way without magic to make the pathways connect? It wouldn’t be easy – so it was a good thing they did have Merlin and his magic – but Merlin had full confidence that Arthur would find a way around that.

“I’ve never seen a flower like this,” Merlin said instead, catching Arthur’s hand with his own and pulling him back to the pale pink blooms. “Everything in Ealdor was hardy and practical, while in the druid land, it was boggy and suited to the marsh.”

Arthur caught his gaze for a moment, sending a spark of heat through Merlin, before he separated their fingers and reached again for the flower. He snapped the stem, offering the flower to Merlin.

“Not everyone gets to just snap off flowers from the garden,” Arthur commented dryly, still waiting for the flower to change hands. “We can press it when we get home if you like, or you can wait until it dies and I can pick you a new one.”

It was a simple, stupid gesture, but Merlin couldn’t think of anything nicer Arthur could have offered. Without really thinking, he threw his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, pulling the man into a hug before hurriedly letting go again. It was the most contact they’d had since the night at the Isle, and Merlin felt suddenly hyper aware of Arthur, his magic wanting to feel their connection again, deeper than what they had at the moment.

The flower passed from Arthur to Merlin, and he cradled it gently at first, afraid it would fall apart. When Merlin was sure the petals weren’t about to crumble, he took it firmly by the stem, not in the least slighted by the fact it was a flower.

“Thank you,” Merlin said a moment later, and Arthur nodded, leading them from the gardens and the palace, back to the house.

That night, Merlin lay on his back on the sofa, eyes closed yet far from sleep. He could hear Arthur in the other room, every breath he took as the door was wide open, and though they were mere metres apart, Merlin felt as though they’d never been further, even with their pasts and a whole Ocean that had been between them.

He didn’t understand Arthur Pendragon. Yes, they were comrades, two people taking on an almighty task to overthrow a corrupt monarchy, but they were also friends. Or at least Merlin thought so, though he knew his magic would be more than content with something more. Merlin himself too would be happier if he could touch Arthur again, lay beside him in a bed and not out here on the sofa, but that was a hopeless thought.

One drunken mistake and his magic was convinced Arthur and he belonged together. One drunken mistake and Merlin wondered what more would be like, craved more when there was nothing else to think about under the cover of night.

Merlin ran a hand over the two items laid on his chest, the Obsidian and the flower Arthur had given him. They’d press it between the pages of the Chronicles of Beltane tomorrow, but Merlin wanted to keep it with him for now, enjoying the lingering scent of the petals and remembering the innocent and vulnerable expression that had crossed Arthur’s face when he’d presented the flower.

He shuffled a little, pressing his head back into the cushions underneath and gave a small sigh, wondering what they would do next. There was so much to do, lest of all think about the relationship between them, no matter how much Merlin wanted to pay attention to it.

Perhaps when everything was done, Nimueh vanquished and Arthur taking control of his kingdom, Merlin could think about what he wanted. When he had his mother, Gaius and Mordred back and had divulged the truth about Ygraine to Arthur.

There was guilt in knowing that he still hadn’t told Arthur about his mother, but compared to everything else, it weighed little around Merlin’s neck. He sniffed, soaking in the flower’s scent, before he let his hand fall from his side and he finally succumbed to slumber.

**.**

It took five more days of tentative planning before Arthur came up with the idea that would buy them the time needed to get to the Stone Circle.

They had quickly realised that any action they needed to take would have to be done through the Obsidians. Speculating on their knowledge of the connections and what Merlin wanted – for Camelot to join with the Old Magic in the earth – Arthur had directed their thoughts, making Merlin think and planning, the pair realising that they would need the Circle itself.

“It’ll be difficult to get to,” Arthur had said, frowning once they’d decided what needed to be done. “And Nimueh would do everything in her power to stop us.”

Merlin had nodded, and they’d gone back to their plans, trying to find a way in which they could get around everyone and down to the Circles. According to Arthur, the only entrance to the Circle was deep in the heart of the castle, down in the dungeons and beyond any area anyone would usually frequent. Getting to that area, however, was a different matter, for the castle would be teeming with life, no matter what time of day.

So they needed a distraction, something big that would divert attention. They’d contemplated everything from starting a riot (if you looked for the right people, you could muster up a force, Arthur was almost certain) to performing a display of magic in the centre of the Square. It took hours of angered conversations, frustration and headaches, but they finally came up with a plan.

“What if,” Arthur began, eyes darting over the computer screen they had up, fingers clacking away on the keyboard. “We need a big distraction,” he continued, hitting one last button before turning to Merlin.

“Yeah,” Merlin said, shrugging. He knew that.

“What if we shut down the entire electrical system?” Arthur said, breathless and excited. His eyes were wide and Merlin wanted nothing more than to pull him close and kiss him, reignite the bond they’d forged at the Isle and tell Arthur how amazing he was.

Kilgharrah had said that Merlin’s dragon would be smart, someone who could use an Obsidian without magic and manipulate the channels to his whim. Over the weeks, Merlin had gathered enough information to see that Arthur was renown amongst Uther’s ranks, or his knights. They were the clever ones, Uther’s match to Nimueh’s sorcerers, working on the electrical channels as opposed to the magic of the City, and Arthur was the best.

It was no surprise that Arthur would think of something to do with the electrical system, but to shut it all down… was it even possible?

“How would you do that?” Merlin asked.

“I can pull up the basic codes that the entire system depends on. They’re archaic, barely upgraded from when they were put in place, and I’ve messed around with them enough that I won’t be a bull in a china shop.” He paused, considering. “Though granted what we want to do, perhaps I ought to be a bull in a china shop.”

He gave a wry grin before carrying on. “If I can tweak the code, I can get the entire City to shut down. Under that, my father will have no choice but to enforce the emergency protocol and put up a lockdown until they get the system back up.”

While he didn’t understand everything Arthur had said, Merlin knew that it wouldn’t be easy.

“How long will it give us?” he asked quietly, and Arthur turned back to the screen.

“A hour, maybe two. Long enough for us to get from here to the Circle at any rate.” He pressed a few more keys, bringing up a pitch black screen. “I’m going to look at the code again, see what I can figure out.”

Merlin left him to it, walking over to the sofa, humming to himself. His magic was content, laying lazily inside of him, but he used it to pick up Arthur’s battered copy of Mykonos, flicking through the pages and imagining, not for the first time, what Arthur saw in this tiny book.

“It belonged to my mother,” a voice said, and Merlin startled slightly, not having realised Arthur was behind him, arms leaning on the back of the sofa. “My father gave it to me when I was old enough and though it’s a far cry from a fairy tale, there was always something realistic in the tale.”

He moved around the side of the sofa, coming to sit by Merlin, throwing an arm across the back of the setee.

“It’s not a perfect story. Some good people lose and some bad people win. Nothing is tidy in the end and there’s a lot of suffering they all went through, as well as hard choices.” Arthur swallowed. “I never had fairy tales and ‘once upon a time’s until I saw you.”

“They’re not all bad,” Merlin whispered, letting the book float back onto the table, turning his body so that his knees rested on the cushion beneath him and Arthur was in front of him.

“They can teach you things,” Merlin continued, letting his gaze wander down, until he could catalogue every wrinkle, every freckle and groove, that made up Arthur’s face. “They can teach you to love, to fight for what is right, to seek justice and to stick to your cause.”

Arthur blinked slowly, wetting his lips. Merlin watched the trail his tongue left, shifting forwards very slightly, close to desperation in what he wanted. It wasn’t his magic this time, lethargic and curled inside of him, almost undetectable.

He was about to reach out and brush his fingers down Arthur’s cheek when the prince moved, backing away and standing, tall and imposing. Merlin couldn’t look away, not even as Arthur flared his nostrils, retreating to his bedroom.

It was late, and Merlin sighed, beginning to set his bed up for the night. He hadn’t even touched Arthur and he’d scared him off, so what hope was there now? It had been Merlin’s magic that Arthur had felt and liked at the Isle, another manipulation to link them together to Merlin could be Emrys and complete his destiny.

He didn’t want that though. What he’d had with Arthur, he’d been so sure that it was more than just his magic. He’d been so sure that Arthur had wanted him, felt their connection and that it hadn’t just been because of the magic. He wanted Arthur, and had been so sure…

“Merlin?” Arthur asked softly, framed in the glow of light from his room. The rest of the house was dark now, save for the blinking light of the computer, and Merlin’s head snapped to look at him.

He sounded so unsure of himself, so Merlin stood, legs shaky as he untangled himself from the sheets.

“I…” Arthur began, before looking down, rubbing the back of his head and mussing up his hair. “I’ve never heard a fairy tale,” he admitted, glancing up briefly, a flash of white against a silhouette.

“Oh,” Merlin replied, taking a step forward, and then another, until he stood before Arthur, hesitant.

“You can stay,” he added, moving to grip Merlin’s wrist lightly, fingers warm where they brushed Merlin’s skin. “It’s comfier than the sofa and I won’t do anything.”

Merlin could have added that he wouldn’t have minded if Arthur did choose to do something, but he led Arthur into his room and waited for Arthur to climb into the large bed.

There was space enough, though their legs brushed each other. Neither made the decision to move back, away from each other, and Arthur flicked the light off, rolling over until he faced Merlin, one hand in the space between them.

“What story would you like to know?” Merlin asked, taking a bold move to thread his hand with Arthur’s, stroking over the back of his hand, little promising touches that he would tell them all to Arthur should he ask.

“A happy one,” Arthur replied, voice low and husky. “Something where everyone gets their happy ending.”

Merlin took a deep breath and began.

**.**

The morning broke slowly, without the weather or an alarm to wake him. Merlin woke early, warm and comforted, before he slipped back into sleep, waking hours later, still warm and still comforted.

He knew why; it was hard not to feel Arthur’s chest rising and falling in tandem to his, and where their hands met, Merlin could feel his magic running lazily into Arthur, calling to him in his dreams, reassuring him wherever he was.

Merlin looked up at the ceiling and sighed lightly. He’d spun stories the night before, the classics such as Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White… timeless stories that had been lost in their written forms, but never forgotten from the minds of people. Arthur had soaked up the words, eyes lidded with the need for sleep, but his determination to hear ‘and they lived happily ever after’ winning by miles.

He had listened like a child, soaking the words into his mind and fusing them with his plans. No matter what, first and foremost Arthur was a prince, and as a prince, he wanted what was best for his people. He wanted to save people, just as Merlin did, and together they would. For someone who had never had ‘once upon a time’s and ‘happily ever after’s in his stories, Arthur had never quite believed they existed, something he’d confessed against his pillow, indulging Merlin in his own night-time secrets.

The morning cast Arthur in a different light, made him younger and less of the man Merlin knew him to be. Asleep, Arthur could be his mighty dragon, a beast that would stop at nothing to tear down the walls of the Tower and save his people. In his sleep, Arthur could be the image of his father, turning Merlin out of Camelot to rot on the shores, closing any door of hope forever.

He could be anything, and Arthur had chosen to be by Merlin’s side, sign away his loyalty and placed his people first. Merlin hadn’t had a choice, not really, to come and help Camelot, but Arthur had. He could have changed his mind at any point too – it would have been easy. Nimueh wanted him, and Arthur could be free.

Unlike every monarch before him, Arthur had chosen to fight for what was right, not just what was easy, and that was a thought that Merlin could grow to love in a person.

He shifted away from Arthur, the mattress on his back cold, devoid of body heat the whole night as they’d been huddled together. It was then that Arthur woke, cracking an eye open ever so slightly and humming out a hello.

Merlin had expected an awkward silence or uneasy stepping around each other, but Arthur simply sat up and stretched, throwing his arms out to the side and brushing against Merlin.

“Sorry,” he apologised a moment later, “Breakfast?”

And that was it. Merlin smiled to himself as Arthur left the room, blanket tucked around his legs and one hand braced on his pillow.

After breakfast came more planning, Arthur going through numerous codes, trying to build up a virus that would take down the system while Merlin focused on Aglain’s meditation, building on his magic and trying to feel every inch of the City.

On the second day, Merlin began working on Arthur’s house silently, refusing the channels so that the magic one could sink back into the earth and the electricity could merge fully. It had taken longer than his efforts in Gwen’s house, but that had mainly been because there was so much more for Merlin to do here. He’d never attempted an area this vast before, but it worked, well, and Merlin looked up across the room, smiling at Arthur.

“Turn something on,” he said, drawing an amused smirk from Arthur.

“Why?” he asked.

“Just do it,” Merlin insisted, and Arthur rolled his eyes, moving away from his screen and flicking for the remote on the TV. It flickered to life, and Merlin closed his eyes, feeling for any problems in the system he had created, smiling wider when he sensed nothing, just a stronger channel that had existed prior.

“It worked on your house,” he said, still smiling. “I really think we can do this.”

There was a look in Arthur’s eyes, something that Merlin felt resonate deep within him. They were next to each other, Arthur standing and Merlin seated, but it would be easy to pull him down and close, press their lips together as he’s been wanting to for days now.

Merlin didn’t. And Arthur didn’t. He just took one look at Merlin, placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, smile never falling from his lips.

Together, they worked on their plan for the rest of the day, and the day after. They slept together, barely touching yet unified deeper than simply physical. Merlin’s magic had attuned itself to Arthur, wanted him to be happy you could say, and in their sleep, it drew them together, warm and happy. Arthur knew, but when Merlin had informed him quietly of the matter, he’d thrown an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and laughed, marvelled by the way magic worked rather than disgusted that it had singled him out.

When their plans were done, they lay in the darkness of Arthur’s room, silent yet far from being sleep.

“Merlin?” Arthur asked in the dark, throwing the words into the night sky. “What will happen tomorrow?”

For a long while, Merlin couldn’t think of an answer. He let the words float around them, brain hardly scrambling to answer the question, when a word that had fallen from a dragon’s mouth sprouted from Merlin’s.

“Destiny,” he said, slightly awed. “We were prophesised to do this years ago and we’ll finally do it.”

Arthur was silent, and Merlin shifted, trying to see him through the gloom. There was something more, Merlin felt, something that he hadn’t answered properly.

“I mean,” Arthur muttered a while later, voice husky. “What happens to us? What will you do? What will I do?”

He shifted, the bed dipping as Arthur moved beyond any silent boundary and into Merlin’s personal space.

“What happens if, for whatever reason, one of us is hurt, or taken away or-“

Merlin let a hand graze Arthur’s cheek, hushing the spew of worried words. He let his thumb curl over Arthur’s cheek before he shuffled closer, fitting himself against Arthur.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Merlin whispered, and he kissed Arthur’s cheek tenderly. “We’re going to be together and win, because there are no other options.”

That was all that needed to be said, and for once, Merlin reacted without the prompt of his magic. It was silent as he met Arthur’s kiss, rolling him over and burying his hands into the pillows either side of Arthur’s head, pressing against him and pushing down, until Arthur arched slightly and gripped back, pulling and pushing, fighting for what they both wanted.

They weren’t explosive or anything overly amazing that Merlin would want to broadcast to the world, but they were a quiet, powerful perfect, fitting together seamlessly in the darkness, Arthur’s broad shoulder’s moving over Merlin and bony knees locking to Arthur’s hips.

His magic remained quiet, and that was how Merlin knew they were meant to be more than any prophecy, more than any sentence in an ancient book.

Tomorrow was the end of the world, but that was okay, because Merlin had Arthur, and Arthur had him.

**.**

Arthur hit enter on the keyboard before his thumb retreated to his face, rolling the ring on his index finger over his lips. Merlin took his eyes away from Arthur for a moment, but returned them, not understanding the garbled words on the screen or the flicking images.

He looked so young, Merlin thought. He looked in his element, having created this code from scratch and forced it to work. Arthur was proud of his accomplishment, because he knew that it would bring a new age for Camelot, one without slavery or lies.

It took a few moments more, Merlin donning a smile as he saw Arthur’s excitement practically rolling off of his shoulders, until the computer screen went blank and panic consumed him.

“What’s happened?” Merlin rushed out, wondering how they could have miscalculated. Arthur’s fingers pressed a few buttons on the computer, a wolfish grin overtaking his lips as he turned to Merlin.

“Check the kitchen,” he demanded, and Merlin did as told, understanding what Arthur was hoping for.

He flicked a few of the switches on random appliances, but nothing beeped or whirled. Everything was silent and dark, and Arthur gave a whoop of laughter, standing up and throwing his arms around Merlin as he returned.

“We did it!” he exclaimed against Merlin’s ear. “I knew we would, but still!”

Taking Arthur’s head in his hands, Merlin drew him back and smiled, wonder and amazement surely clear in his eyes. Arthur pulled him closer and kissed him softly on the lips, a clear promise that everything was going to change for the better, before he pulled back and walked to the door.

“The Square should be shut down and my father will have ordered the knights to evacuate public places.” Arthur looked positively gleeful at the next words, “It’s the worst scenario he’d have thought of, well short of everyone from the Pickings rising up against him. He won’t understand how it happened, and by the time he gets the best team on it, it’ll be too late. We have plenty of time, but we best get going before an iron curfew’s enforced.”

Merlin followed Arthur to the door, where Arthur took his hand and smiled, pulling Merlin to his side and starting off through the dark streets. Without the electrical sky, Merlin could see that Camelot wasn’t completely enclosed. In fact, the Tower top looked to be similar to a curled flower, petals sprung to open, and wondered if the initial design had thrown the top open, exactly how the Old World would have been.

Moving through the Square was easy, and for once the wishing well remained silent. They ran across the bridge, hardly containing nervous laughter, feet pounding against the floor like children running through a house.

It was strangely liberating to be the only ones in a City that would otherwise be full of busy, fast-paced people. Arthur had slowed them all down, sent them home, so that they could literally work their magic together and create a better world for the next time they stepped from their homes.

Merlin spared a thought for Morgana and Gwen, wondering what they were doing right now, before Arthur crossed the boundary of the palace, leading Merlin to the darkest parts of his castle.

They walked through the darkness of the halls, unafraid of being seen. As Arthur had put it; everyone else would be in a state of lockdown, not willing to come out of their homes as everything they relied upon vanished. Shutting down the entire system that Camelot run on was genius on Arthur's behalf for Merlin to work his magic, but also to stop any unwanted interruptions.

They passed through the palace, Arthur stating that the only way they'd be able to get down into the upper regions of the Tower, where the Stone Circle was, would be through the abandoned dungeons, without having to use the shuttles. Well, having to walk the route of the shuttles, as they were ground to a halt at the lack of electricity.

It was amazing to see how much Camelot depended on the electricity, really, but Merlin couldn't help but feel a little sad. It was like a bird that had lost one of its wings; not really a great City anymore, struggling along on its other wing, the injured, magical one. Without the two, the bird - Camelot - would die, that much was inevitable.

"We'll cut through here," Arthur whispered, shooting away from the corridor they'd been in and moving through to a great hall.

It looked like a throne room, with ornate chairs standing at one end and an empty floor. Perhaps in the old days a king would have held court here, but Merlin knew that Uther would never hold court now, unless it was with the sorcerers, and then they would move to a secretive place, not wanting anyone to be privy to their sins.

They passed through the hall, Merlin barely getting a chance to see any more as Arthur dragged them through, into yet another corridor and then to a curved flight of steps. They moved down with speed, Arthur's hand loose in Merlin's own, but warm and reassuring.

As they reached the base of the steps, meeting a forked junction, Merlin's eyes set upon the wall between the two pathways.

"Merlin?" Arthur questioned, breath heavy, when he realised Merlin wasn't moving. His own eyes alighted on the wall, at the object mounted at the junction, and looked to Merlin.

"Its name is Excalibur. Legends say that it was the sword of the gods, or the ancient kings, depending on which legends you look to. They all agree that it was forged in a dragon's breath, though, and the strongest sword ever known to man." He gave a wry grin and let his hand fall from Merlin's. "And then there are those other legends that say it never had a master, that the sword would not let itself be used by anyone other than the greatest king the world would ever know."

Arthur laughed at that, the sound clear and joyous in the flickering light from the lit beacons that lined the dungeon walls.

"Not many kings liked that legend though. They could never wield Excalibur, some said it was too heavy, for others it was too sluggish, there were thousands of excuses." Arthur looked at Merlin, the nearby firelight flashing in his eyes.

"And what king wants to acknowledge that he won't be the greatest, all down to a sword?" He shrugged his shoulders, taking a step towards the left pathway, stopping when he realised Merlin still wasn't following.

"Merlin?" he asked again, brow furrowing. "We have to go now or we'll run out of time."

Merlin was still fixed on the sword, and took a step towards the blade. He took it from the wall gently, wincing at the sudden weight in his arms. It was a masterpiece, glimmering and golden on the blade and comforting at the hilt. It was, in every way, a perfect sword for the right person.

In the Chronicles of Beltane, the original tome that Arthur had given him, the un-translated legends had spoken of a weapon mightier than any before that Merlin would need. He'd assumed the Old language had been referring to his magic, but looking at Excalibur, Merlin knew there was more to it than just his magic.

They'd need this sword, for whatever reason, and Arthur presented Excalibur to Arthur hilt-first, eyes never leaving Arthur's.

"Take it," he said softly, words firm and leaving no room for Arthur to argue.

"Merlin I-" Arthur said, shaking his head.

"Take your sword," Merlin repeated, nodding a little.

"I am not yet king," Arthur reminded him, still shaking his head and taking a small step back, distancing himself from what Merlin was offering.

Merlin looked away, regretfully, down at the gleaming sword in his hands.

"You think that your father will be king when this is all over?" he asked sadly, meeting Arthur's gaze once more with pity. "Arthur, if we do this, if we succeed, there is no way that he can stay upon his throne."

Gritting his jaw, Merlin continued, "There are terrible things that he has done, things that you would never forgive him for."

Arthur scoffed, "You've told me everything there is to know. Yes they were terrible, but if we can fix it then there's no reason to overthrow the king as well."

This wasn't how Merlin had wanted to tell him. It wasn't how Merlin had planned it at all, and especially not now when so much weighed on them completing this task.

But he had to. It was now or never, and Merlin couldn’t take a step further knowing that he’d lied straight to Arthur’s face. He had to tell him, fuck Arthur had deserved to know right from the start, and Merlin had to do it now.

“When I was with the druids,” he began, letting the sword free of one hand, resting the blade’s tip rest on the ground slightly as Merlin shifted his grip to the hilt. “There was another person who I was with, aside from Gaius. Along with my father and Gaius, she was exiled when she discovered the truth.”

Arthur’s voice was hollow, almost as if he knew what Merlin’s answer was going to be, when he asked, “She?”

“I first knew her as Eigyr, a shy woman who was scared. When I discovered the truth, she told me her full story, how she’d been betrayed by the man she loved and cast aside without even saying a goodbye to her son.”

Merlin couldn’t bear to look at Arthur, not wanting to see the betrayal on his face.

“You were the one who made me realise who she was,” Merlin admitted, still not looking at Arthur. “Back when you showed me the picture of the queen, when we were in the garden.”

Arthur had to have understood by now, Merlin thought, but he still kept his gaze downcast.

“She told me the truth and her real name. She… Ygraine asked me to look for you, to see that you were okay,” Merlin added, desperately hoping that Arthur would accept the tiny olive branch for what it was and be glad that his mother still cared. Selfish, but Merlin didn’t want to lose him.

So Merlin risked a glance at Arthur, and regretted it instantly.

Arthur's face fell dramatically before tightening, all emotion cutting off as the words filtered through to his brain. He frowned slightly, giving a minute shake of his head before a quiet 'no' slipped from his mouth and he looked at Merlin, hard.

"That's ridiculous," he said, but the words were weak. "You said you'd told me everything, about all the crimes the sorcerers had committed and..." Arthur trailed off, voice pitching higher as his frown deepened.

"And Gaius!" he said suddenly. "You told me about Gaius and not... not..."

"Your mother," Merlin said quietly. "I know, I know and I'm sorry, so, so sorry, but it's not something that I could just tell you, there had to be a moment."

The words were a far cry from what Merlin had really wanted to say, but they were out now and there was no way he could take them back.

Arthur took another step back, eyes wide and horrified look on his face.

“I trusted you,” he blurted out suddenly, angry and unable to contain it. “All those times you could have told me and yet you sat there, in my house – in my bed – and said there was nothing more to tell me.” Unadulterated fury was clear in Arthur’s voice, but Merlin just took it, looking down and away, knowing that he had deserved it.

“Arthur,” he said a moment later, breaking the tension between them. “I never wanted to hurt you, but I couldn’t-“

“No Merlin,” Arthur said flatly, “She’s my mother and you lied to me. I can’t…” he broke off with a slightly strangled laugh, narrowing his eyes as he strode forwards, passing Merlin and heading for the stairs.

“I can’t do this with someone I can’t trust,” he said, hideously wicked and yet deservingly so. Arthur spared him one last glance before he was gone, head bowed as he walked up the steps again, leaving Merlin with Excalibur cold and heavy under his hand.

The Chronicles had spoken of Merlin never having to do this alone, yet Arthur was gone. Arthur had walked away and there was nothing that Merlin could do to bring him back. He had lied, betrayed Arthur, all the while knowing that Arthur valued his family relationships above all.

Merlin had forced him to betray Uther, his father, and had secreted away the truth about his mother. How did that make him any different from what Nimueh and the sorcerers were doing? He’d ripped Arthur’s family apart just as well as all the other magic users had, that was without a doubt.

But he had a destiny to fulfil. With or without Arthur, Merlin needed to free the people trapped below them. He would do the best he could with Excalibur and his magic in order to free those in need, and when this was all done, he could apologise to Arthur – properly – and take him to Ygraine. It wouldn’t make up for what he had done, but it would be a start.

So Merlin did what he’d always done, tucked the painful feeling inside of himself, deep somewhere where it couldn’t escape, and he moved forwards to do what he had to, to complete his destiny. It was what he’d done the whole time since he’d been washed up on the shores of the Tower, and apparently what he’d continue to do, alone, until his goal was met.

He was foolish for thinking that Arthur would have stayed with him. Every time Merlin had gotten close to someone, they’d been taken away or left. This destiny was something that he had to do alone now, without help, because the more help he received, the more people ended up hurt.

So Merlin took Excalibur up, more firmly now, and stepped forward down the corridor that would lead him through the dungeons and down to the Circle. The sword was heavy and uncomfortable, itching against his magic as it fought against Merlin, telling him that Excalibur was Arthur’s, but Merlin just adjusted his grip, the tip of the blade just touching the ground as he walked.

As he’d done weeks before when moving down to visit Kilgharrah, Merlin walked on autopilot, thoughts buzzing as he placed one foot in front of the other, simple and easy. Left, right, left, right, not focusing on the fact that he’d lost Arthur and would be alone through this now.

Before when he’d seen Nimueh, Merlin realised, he’d had Arthur and there hadn’t been the same fear that was beginning to coil in his stomach. Back then, Nimueh had been beatable, because Arthur was there and they’d been in it together.

Was this the choice? Had Merlin choosing to tell Arthur about Ygraine influenced whether or not he would complete his task or result in the world’s destruction? Surely not though, and even though it had shattered Merlin’s bond with Arthur, it wouldn’t have that big an impact on the rest of the world.

But Merlin hadn’t chosen between people, and he’d always felt that that would be the choice he’d have had to make.

He clenched his jaw as the corridor opened out, revealing a metal-wrought gate, open and leading into darkness-shrouded stairs.

This was it, Merlin realised. There would be no turning back after this, and his grip on Excalibur tightened.as he shuffled forwards. This was his destiny, what he’d crossed the Ocean for and lost his family for. It wasn’t for Arthur, he told himself, wasn’t because a holographic-dragon had asked for his help.

The air drew colder as Merlin moved down wide, stone steps, emerging a little while later on a platform similar to the queen’s garden’s. It wasn’t as ruined, but greenery sprung up from the ground, natural yet wrong, and covered the earth near the huge, black stones jutting out of the earth.

This close to them, Merlin could feel magic resonating in his own Obsidian, the Stone – tiny compared to the ones it was hewn from – vibrated with the power around them and through Merlin’s core. His own magic tingled, but didn’t react, comforted by the presence of the Old Magic as opposed to wary of it.

He basked in the feeling for a few minutes, almost completely unaware of everything around him as magic swirled around him curiously. He was something new and old at the same time, and the magic responded to his very whim, coiling around him like a curious child, intent on discovering his secrets.

Excalibur fell from his grip as the magic within the Obsidians shifted, responding to Merlin in a way he knew they hadn’t to anyone for a long time. He moved to the stone that was central to the Circle, larger and thicker than the others, and laid his palm flat against its surface, closing his eyes.

In that moment, Merlin could feel the thousands of connections that had been forced upon the natural magic. He could feel the decay within the connections, of the corruption that had been forced into the natural magic under the sorcerer’s twisting spells. He could feel the pain and the sorrow of the connections, thousands, and then the huge, rumbling thread that pulled to Kilgharrah.

There was something else, too, a darker thread and a smaller one, fainter than any of the others yet the tingle behind it was stronger, closer. Merlin opened his eyes and turned, unsurprised to see Nimueh. And then his eyes caught sight of the small figure hunched at Nimueh’s side, the source of the smaller thread, and felt his stomach drop as he met Mordred’s frightened gaze.

“I knew you’d come,” Nimueh said, lips curling viciously. “That you would put stock in the prophecy and try to change everything.”

Merlin looked back over to where Excalibur lay in the grass, a small clump of flowers covering the hilt. It was too far away for Merlin to reach without notice, and if he tried, he knew that Nimueh would be able to stop him with ease. She had years of practice for bending the Obsidian’s magic to her whim and as such, her powers would be greater near the Circle. She would easily be able to pluck the sword from his hands and turn it against him. Better that she forgot about it, if she even knew it was there.

If Mordred hadn’t been there, things would have been easier. Merlin could have used his magic to overpower Nimueh, easily. Except Mordred was there, a frightened child, who could probably only remember being fired at with the stunner gun as his last memory before being plucked from his cubicle.

“Let him go,” Merlin said, hands out to his side and palms facing Nimueh, trying to show her that he wasn’t a threat, so long as she did as he asked.

She simple shook her head, amused.

“Do you know who this boy is? What he represents?” Nimueh waited for Merlin’s answer, yet he couldn’t form the words. “He is our salvation, because he has the perfect amount of power that the Obsidians need. Without his magic, our grip on the sealing spells will lessen, but with it, we can return to a golden age.”

Merlin realised then that not even Nimueh could feel what he felt. Even though Gaius had mentioned Merlin was one of a kind and Aglain had repeated that he was unlike any magic user he’d seen before, Merlin had always assumed that Nimueh, the most powerful sorceress since before the waters flooded the earth the first time, would be like him, that she’d be able to sense the magic all around them.

With what she’d said, however, Merlin knew that she had never felt it. She didn’t know how much damage she’d caused in performing the sealing spells and just assumed that more magic would solve the problem. She was willing to sacrifice Mordred’s life to push magic into the problem, hoping it would solve it without considering that she could do further damage.

Though, if Mordred’s magic could be channelled through the Stones in the way that Merlin was planning to use his own, then maybe Nimueh’s plan would work. However, Merlin could tell that she wasn’t willing to listen to him, and that any plan she had wouldn’t be in the interest of saving the City, but saving the bonds tying the wild magic to the people taken from the Pickings.

Nimueh wasn’t interested in the people, but Merlin was.

“You’re only going to harm innocent people,” Merlin said firmly, shifting so that he was placed directly between Nimueh and the central Stone, as if his body alone would stop her easily.

“And what are you going to do instead?” she asked, eyes flashing warily.

Merlin was reminded of the time Alvarr had stood against him, wanting to use Mordred just how Nimueh did too. But this time, Merlin couldn’t let it happen. Last time, his hesitance, his reluctance to step up and do what was expected of him, had cost Mordred dearly. Merlin wouldn’t let that happen again, not when he knew what to do now.

“I’m going to stop this,” Merlin said. “I’m going to stop you hurting so many people and make things right.”

He paused, shifting his weight. “Can you really not feel it?” Merlin asked, drawing narrowed eyes from Nimueh. “Can you not feel the magic and how twisted it’s become because of you?”

When she didn’t reply, Merlin continued.

“All the things you have done, do you ever regret any of them?” His voice was softer now, trying to make Nimueh see reason and let Mordred go. “You lost your best friend,” he added, “Because you chose to betray her.”

Nimueh’s chin tilted slightly in surprise.

“I gave Ygraine the son she’d always craved. I grew up with her and knew that she wanted a child more than anything else in the world.” Mordred fidgeted as Nimueh’s grip tightened. “I had the power to give her what she wanted, so I did.”

“By killing an innocent child?” Merlin demanded.

“The innocent child was one of the refugees. He would have died no matter what I had done, I just used him to my best ability.” She closed her eyes, “We all have to die, Merlin, so what does it matter that I used his death? I created a life for my friend. She,” Nimueh all but spat, “Was the one who betrayed me.”

In all the years she’d been the most powerful sorceress, Merlin wondered how much thought Nimueh had put into losing Ygraine. In the end, it had been Uther who had banished her, but it had still been Nimueh’s actions that had caused the divide. Without Nimueh using her magic to help Ygraine conceive, the queen would never have learnt the full truth behind the atrocities of Camelot, and so would never have chosen to leave after the ultimatum.

“Can’t you see how she felt?” Merlin asked, looking at Mordred.

“She abandoned her son and her husband,” Nimueh said in reply, lip curled. “She chose to leave with Gaius and Balinor, abandoning her family. There is no excuse for that,” she said.

Shaking his head, Merlin took a slight step forward.

“Ygraine is a kind-hearted woman. When she learnt the truth about what you were doing, and that both her husband and best friend had gone behind her back and used magic to create a child – sacrificing someone else’s son in the process… what did you expect her to do?” Merlin’s voice was sad, thinking of how much pain Ygraine must have been in, still was, and how much other pain Nimueh and Uther had caused.

“She loves Arthur,” Merlin said, staring Nimueh down. “She thinks about him all the time, but how could she live in a world that believes it’s okay to kill innocent children for their magic?”

He looked pointedly at Mordred, who was wide eyed and trembling. He was pale, having been trapped inside the cubicle, and Merlin could see the awkward angles of his bones sticking through skin, starved as he was.

“She got her child and abandoned him.” Nimueh shook her head dismissively. “She abandoned Camelot and her son, it doesn’t matter how much you say she loved him.”

For a moment, Merlin had thought that Nimueh was listening to him, that she’d understood what he was trying to say. If Nimueh chose to let Mordred go, let him save them all, then she would be able to see Ygraine once more. He had hoped, foolishly he now realised, that Nimueh would still value their friendship after all these years.

“She abandoned me,” Nimueh said. “She turned her back on her kingdom and refused to find a solution. Do you think we all want to keep thousands of people enslaved?”

Nimueh shook her head, walking towards Merlin, stopping as she reached one of the outer stones. Mordred was still clutched in her grasp, but she freed one of her hands and rested it upon one of the Stones.

“There was no other choice,” she said, “And even now we have no other options. Those people will never achieve what the people of the City can, so we offer them a life that’s better. In the cubicles, they don’t have to worry about their next meal, or whether they will die during the night.” She smiled, cruel and cold. “They can just dream and slip into death quietly.”

They had to have found ways to justify what they’d done, Merlin realised. From the start, back when there had only been a handful of people providing magic for the City, it must have been easy. Pick the weak, the terminally ill or the alone and frail. Letting them quietly fall into death would be kinder, it could be rationalised and sold, so that it was easier and fairer for the person.

But on this scale, with thousands of people, there was no way that it could be brushed off and under the carpet. They had needed a cover up, Merlin understood that (after all, to do what they’d felt they had to at such a terrible price had to be self-justified somehow), but it couldn’t work for this day and age.

“There is another choice,” Merlin said. “Magic can be bonded to the Tower, merged with the wires and pathways of modern technology. I’ve seen it happen under my own hands, but carrying on like this is not the way to go and won’t save you.”

Just for a second, Merlin saw Nimueh waver. For just a moment, she looked as though she was going to let Mordred go and trust Merlin, but then something caught her eye and her lips curved in triumph.

Following her gaze, Merlin’s heart plummeted into his stomach. With his shoulders squared and feet planted beside Excalibur, Arthur stone between two Obsidians, hair tousled and furious look on his face as he stared at Nimueh.

“Arthur,” she greeted cordially, reminiscent of how she had parted from them before. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Arthur shook his head. “Yet here I am,” he said plainly, determinedly not looking at Merlin. “And I heard everything,” he said quietly, wavering in his stance for a split second.

Nimueh didn’t even try to be coy, simply shrugged her shoulders. “Ygraine wanted a child and I gave you to her. She should have been grateful, but look what she did instead. She left you when you were days old to go down to the rabble.”

The waver in Arthur’s stance had vanished, instead replaced with determination. Merlin knew that look, had seen it when they’d been programming the virus to shut down the network across the City, and knew that Arthur had made his mind up against everything that he’d done to break their bond of trust.

“She was given a choice, and I feel proud that she made the right choice.” Arthur clenched his jaw, and while he didn’t know more than what he’d heard here, he clearly trusted Merlin more than Nimueh and knew what was right and wrong.

“I might not have known my mother,” he said, voice breaking ever so slightly on the last word, “But I know that she would have done something because it was right. If what you said was true,” and here he did shoot a glance at Merlin, waiting for the confirming nod, “Then she didn’t abandon me. She was forced to abandon me by two people she loved and trusted.”

At the last word, Merlin looked down, not wanting to catch Arthur’s eye in case their gazes met. At the moment, Merlin was little different to Uther and Ygraine for what he had done.

Nimueh closed her eyes, pulling Mordred closer as she turned back to Merlin and opened her eyes once more.

“I’m going to give you a choice now Merlin,” she said, turning away from Arthur and ignoring him as if he’d never been there.

Merlin shifted warily, preparing to take action if he needed to, for whatever Nimueh was planning.

“To reinforce the spells, I need someone with magic in the very core of their soul, entwined with every fibre of their body.” She smiled again, meeting Merlin’s gaze with satisfaction. “So I’m giving you a choice; Mordred or Arthur.”

Shock wracked through Merlin, chilling his blood and coursing through his magic, sending it haywire under his skin. He understood what Nimueh meant; she could only use pure magic for what she wanted to do, ripping it from either Mordred or Arthur to bind her spells.

It was an innocent kind of magic, similar to Merlin’s, that the pair possessed. In Arthur’s case, it was what had helped to conceive him and was part of him, just as his blood and his skin. For Mordred, his power was like Merlin’s and he’d been born with it, raised with intent to conquer the City of Camelot. Except he was just a child, a frightened boy who was weak and alone. Mordred deserved more, but Merlin was being told to choose.

“What if I refuse?” he replied, calmer and steadier than he felt.

In answer, Nimueh raised her free hand, drawing Excalibur from the ground and twisting the blade until it pointed towards Arthur’s chest. She then curled her fingers, pushing Mordred forwards so that he stumbled over, and then set the sword in his direction.

“I’m being kind,” she said suddenly, and Merlin looked between Arthur and Mordred. The child was crumpled on the floor while Arthur stood so tall and strong, yet frozen and uncertain by the events that were transpiring.

After everything, after he’d thought the choice had been made, everything came crashing around Merlin. How could he choose between Mordred and Arthur, a child who had come to him for safety and a man who had called for him over an Ocean. Maybe before he knew Mordred or Arthur properly the choice would have been easy, but he knew and loved them both, yet was expected to choose?

One of them would save Camelot and the other would lead the City in ruins, but Merlin couldn’t tell which was which. This was his choice, the choice that Kilgharrah had warned him of, but how was he supposed to choose?

He remembered the tiny book of Arthur’s, dog-eared and well read. Mykonos; the place that had defined the future of the world, and a battle between gods and titans. The similarities were unnerving, drawing parallels between the titans and Mordred, and the gods and Arthur.

The titans had been rulers of the earth, keepers of natural powers, while the gods had ruled over all. They had been entwined together, born from the same powers in much the same way that both Arthur and Mordred were from magic. Arthur was the ruler, the one who would lead Camelot into greatness, but Mordred was just a child, one who had been used his whole life.

Merlin closed his eyes, swallowing thickly. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, he wasn’t supposed to have to choose. He was supposed to save them all, not be the one to make the choice.

The Obsidian hummed under his touch, and Merlin felt it resonate through his magic. There was something more here, something deeper, and Merlin looked at the Stone, frowning.

“If you don’t make the choice, then I’ll do it for you,” Nimueh said, her voice firm. Excalibur glinted as she twisted the blade, moving slowly through the air to hover directly between the triangle Merlin, Mordred and Arthur made, in an impressive, costly display of magic.

Merlin ran his hand down the Stone, feeling the magic respond to his touch, and let his own magic slip gently over the Stone in return.

“How can I make a choice like that?” Merlin asked, turning his eyes to Nimueh. She tilted her head slightly, arching an eyebrow, and Merlin continued. “I can’t do that,” he said, curling his fingers against the Obsidian.

Kilgharrah has said that Merlin needed to make a choice. His choice would shape the future of Albion, but condemning her or saving her. But the choice wasn’t between Arthur and Mordred, it never had been really; it was a choice between Merlin and Nimueh.

“Fine,” Nimueh said, reaching to move Excalibur again, but Merlin moved quicker.

With a quick dart of his hand, Excalibur was wrenched from Nimueh’s control and she shrieked, taking a step forwards as Merlin wrapped his hand around the hilt of the sword. Like before, it was still just as heavy, but Merlin’s purpose drove him and he drove the sword into the Obsidian with a flash of his eyes. The sword struck deep, sinking into the Stone with ease, and Merlin smiled triumphantly, stomach clenching at the sudden rush of power that snaked through the sword.

“I refuse to choose between them,” Merlin said, turning to a pale-faced Nimueh. There was no way that she would be able to wrench the sword out with her magic, but that wasn’t the only reason Merlin had done it.

“I told you to let me sort this out and you refused to listen to me,” he continued and Nimueh’s eyes widened as she finally, finally, understood what Merlin was going to do. Her face relaxed and she shook her head slightly, lips curling into a smirk.

“You’re pitiful,” she began, “To think that you will be able to do it alone.”

“But I’m not alone,” Merlin said with an honest smile, looking to Mordred and then Arthur, both figures frozen, watching as magic began to fall thickly into the area, as if a sack of grain had been damaged and the wares were spilling free. “I have the people I love, the people I’ll be saving and the Old Magic itself.”

With a quirk of the lips, Merlin added, “The magic wants to be used; you just chose not to listen,” before he turned his back and placed both hands on Excalibur’s hilt, summoning every ounce of magic inside of him and forcing it into the ball in his chest.

Dimly, as though they were far away, Merlin heard Arthur call his name and Nimueh shout something in anger, but he was too far gone at that point. This time, with his eyes open, Merlin could see the magic prickle onto his skin, glowing as it moved up and out, reflecting off even the Obsidian and casting pearls of light all around the Circle.

The magic running through the Circle began to pick up, moving through the channels that had existed for centuries under Merlin’s command, holding Mordred, Nimueh and Arthur in place. They couldn’t stop him now, but Merlin knew that one of them would at least try, and that was something he couldn’t afford, not now when he’d finally, finally, figured everything out.

His choice had been to sacrifice someone he loved, or himself. Kilgharrah’s words hadn’t revealed that, Merlin had never thought of it before, but he knew that this was the choice and that he’d chosen to save Camelot and, by extension, Albion. Both Mordred and Arthur would live, Merlin’s choice making sure of that, and in sacrificing every inch of magic, Merlin could use it to right the wrongs of the past.

The ball in his chest broke as Merlin pushed at it, the power too much to contain. In an instant he felt it blossom, gathering magic from the Circle and spiralling down the channels that had been spelled years before. The connections to the people in the cubicles broke, snapping like spider webs, under Merlin’s will, and it was easy for him to will the magic into the Tower, shoot down to the earth and stir the magic that had guided him here to his wishes.

Merlin didn’t know how long he guided the magic for, but he could feel the Tower respond. The pathways sorcerers had built into the structure at its very creation were fused, locked in place and replenished with magic, tasks that had never been finished and forgotten, the easier solution to rip magic from children.

When he was done, still glowing, though it had dimmed slightly, Merlin dug deep and felt for the bond that connected him to Kilgharrah. With his hands still grasped around Excalibur, using the sword for support more than anything now, Merlin searched for the connection between the dragon and the Obsidians, diffusing the invisible links with ease.

After that, Merlin felt his body sagging, the glow of magic fizzing up dry and burning into nothingness. He was done, emptied for the first time in his life, and he felt his body fall backwards, futilely grabbing for Excalibur as he hit the ground.

Dimly, as his body jerked, trying to cling to the magic Merlin had forced out, Merlin was aware of someone rushing to his side, holding him, and then they were gone. His eyes rolled back in his head as a strange sound rang out through the circle, like stone on stone, and then there was the garbled cry, but he couldn’t pick out who had made the cry.

As he felt the last simmers of magic float from his body, passing into the ground in attempt to muster up the Old Magic – magic that wouldn’t come because of all the damage Nimueh had caused in this area – someone slipped their arms around Merlin’s neck, pulling him onto their lap. Smaller hands took his, someone kneeling at his other side, and the larger presence, the warmer one his head was rested against, bent low to whisper in his ear, but it was too late and Merlin was gone, his magic emptied and destiny fulfilled.

**.**

The first thing that Merlin noticed was the sway of the Ocean, the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the silence that the sea induced. It was oddly quiet, even for the sea, as if it was distant, miles away instead of the few meters Merlin knew it to be.

He didn’t open his eyes, savouring the feeling of his bed, not wanting to evacuate the warmth just yet. He was more comfortable than he’d been in weeks, yet there was something wrong, something missing and something that Merlin knew he’d forgotten.

“Merlin?” a voice whispered, warm in his ear. “Are you awake?”

He frowned. Usually his mother would shout up the stairs for him to get up, already too busy with the day’s work. Instead she was mild-mannered, sounding tired and sad for some reason.

Merlin groaned, and felt someone grab his hand, eliciting another groan as, suddenly, it felt as though every inch of his body was covered in tiny bruises. He stiffened, wincing.

“Don’t move sweetie,” Hunith said, and Merlin relaxed a little as she smoothed his brow, wondering what had happened.

He shifted his head on the pillow, moving his shoulders to nestle a little better, with every intention to go back to sleep, when something smoothed across his chest, jarring with the movement. Merlin frowned, shrugging his shoulder up a little to feel the object, snapping his eyes open when he felt the smooth stone of the Obsidian and the warm chain.

The light in the room was dim, but it still hurt Merlin’s eyes. Hunith, pale faced and gaunt, startled a little, trying to calm him down by stroking his arm.

“Settle down,” she said firmly, and Merlin looked at her, slumping back in the cushions as everything rushed back.

“Arthur?” he croaked out, his voice weak from misuse and whatever he’d done to himself through pouring his magic out.

Hunith’s face softened and she leant forwards, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s brow.

“He’s fine,” she said, and Merlin felt relief course through him. “And the little boy too, as well as Gaius and everyone else you saved.”

Merlin closed his eyes, smiling. He’d done it, truly done it.

“Oh Merlin,” Hunith said suddenly, voice wavering as she began to cry. She leant her head on the bed, shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

“Mum?” Merlin croaked out, wiggling his fingers to try and get her attention, the small movement all he could manage.

“I’m sorry,” she managed out, sniffing as she brought her head up and wiped at her eyes. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

Neither did Merlin, but he didn’t admit that to her. When he’d made the choice, Merlin had accepted that he had to give every shred of magic up to make it work. His magic had fought it towards the end, clung to him and tried to join with the Old Magic to pull back into Merlin, but he’d stopped it, knowing that, above all, he had to sever the connection to the people from the Pickings and reinforce the Tower, to provide their freedom and their futures.

“What…” he began, yet the following words caught in his throat, a cough overtaking what Merlin wanted to say.

“I’m not the best person to explain,” Hunith said, understanding his question with a smile, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “Arthur said he would be back shortly… he’s barely left your side, except for the moments that he had no other choice.”

Merlin wanted to ask her why Arthur had stayed – guilt, to kill him with his own hands, to demand answers? – but he felt too tired, weakened without his magic. Instead, he just nodded and let his eyes close, slipping back to sleep quietly.

When he next woke up, he was curled on his side, facing the chair beside his bed. The chair itself was empty, and Merlin wondered if his mother had gone to rest herself, when he noticed a shadow on the floor, someone standing by the only window of the room.

As he struggled to push himself up a bit more, wanting to be able to look around the room he was in properly, Merlin caught the attention of the figure and they approached the bed cautiously.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, sinking into the chair and gripping the arms. He was dressed smartly, hair mussed around a band of gold that was the coronet he’d evidently forgotten to take off.

Neither of them said anything, until Merlin shuffled a little, wincing as pain erupted across his entire body. As Merlin grimace, Arthur mved forward in his chair, concern clear on his face and every intention to grasp Merlin’s hand, just how Hunith had earlier.

Merlin flinched back, shaking his head slightly. After everything he’d done, Arthur couldn’t want to comfort him, could he?

“Merlin?” Arthur asked softly, worry clear in his eyes.

“Why? Why did you come back?” Merlin rushed out, not wanting to hear the answer, yet needing to. Arthur seemed to understand what Merlin meant and he sat back in his chair again, a weary expression on his face.

“After you…” he began, trailing off, “I was so angry. I hated you, wanted to show you how much your lies had hurt me.”

Merlin swallowed thickly, guilt rolling inside of him. He should have told Arthur, there had been plenty of times to, and he’d left it until there was no other choice.

“When you stepped inside of the Obsidian circle,” Arthur was saying, eyes closed and breathing steady, “I could feel your magic. My stone wanted me to go down there, wanted to resonate from those it was hewn with, because that’s what its task was.”

Oh. Arthur had come down for the stone. Not for Merlin then, but a stone that had wanted to be connected to his magic.

“No, no Merlin,” Arthur said hurriedly, reading Merlin’s expression clearly. “That’s not it.” He sighed, as if there was a heavy weight on his shoulders, as if there was a whole kingdom waiting for Arthur to claim it.

“You lied to me, but when I felt your magic, I knew that it wasn’t to be malicious. You’re not like Nimueh or my father, you wouldn’t use that against me, and I needed to see you, needed to help you…” he trailed off again, giving a rugged, nervous laugh.

“It’s always been you and me, hasn’t it? In everything we planned, everything we’ve done,” Arthur ran his tongue over his lips, leaning forward as Merlin’s eyes tracked his every move. “I couldn’t leave you. And I don’t think I ever will be able to.”

At the words, Merlin’s heart soared and he moved, not caring about the pain, hands grabbing for any hold on Arthur they could manage. He tried to kiss him desperately, but fumbled and fell slightly, his kiss falling on Arthur’s chin rather than his lips.

It drew a laugh, and Arthur’s boyish cackle rang through the room, making all the pain Merlin was in right now worth it. To see Arthur this happy and know that he wanted them to stay together despite everything they’d been through made Merlin losing his magic worth it.

“After I poured all my magic into the Obsidians, what happened?” Merlin ventured a few moments later, when he was back in his bed and Arthur was playing with his fingers. A dark look crossed his face, but he conceded, obviously knowing that Merlin had to be told.

“Nimueh was furious. She hadn’t considered any other option but forcing you to kill either Mordred or me, and when she realised what you were doing, she tried to stop you.” Arthur shook his head, “Your magic protected you and you started to glow. Everything changed then, the Obsidians began humming properly, and Nimueh was shouting about how she could feel the magic, how painful it was…”

Arthur shook his head again, and Merlin ran a thumb over his knuckles, waiting for him to complete the story in his own time.

“You have so much power,” he said quietly, looking at Merlin in wonder. “It was just pouring from you and into the Obsidians, never stopping. When Nimueh realised that she wouldn’t be able to stop you, she turned to Mordred instead.”

Hunith had said Mordred was fine, but that didn’t stop the spike of panic shooting through Merlin. If, after all of that, Mordred had been killed, how could Merlin had lived with it?

“You were on the ground and I pulled Excalibur from the Obsidian. I killed her. I killed Nimueh, because she was about to kill Mordred and you were on the ground, having done something completely reckless and stupid-“

“Arthur,” Merlin said, cutting him off. Despite everything she’d done to him and his family, Arthur still felt regret over killing Nimueh.

“You had to. Nimueh had been consumed with greed and power lust. You said that she called out in pain when she felt the magical channels?” Arthur nodded, meeting Merlin’s gaze slowly. “Those channels shouldn’t hurt. They contain the Old Magic, pure magic, and if she couldn’t feel the hope and happiness within them, then there was nothing we could do to save her.”

Bowing his head, Arthur sniffed heavily. He hadn’t shed a tear, but it was still hard work for him, having the blood of someone he’d once cared about forever on his hands. Merlin couldn’t blame him for that, but he could reach out and tell him that it was okay.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked softly, listening to the gulls as they called from places afar, swaying to the sea currents.

“About two days,” Arthur replied. “We were worried sick, but Gaius said that you would be okay.”

Merlin smiled, already knowing that Gaius and Mordred were okay. He was glad the physician was up and about, typical to his fashion and lifestyle, and was counting down the moments until he could visit them.

The roar of the sea floated into the room, and Merlin frowned, looking at Arthur. He hadn’t registered it as an oddity before, but never had the Ocean been heard in Camelot before.

Arthur grinned. “You reinforced the entire Tower. As you wished, we’re connected to the very earth itself, I had sorcerers confirm it. The Ocean can rage all it wants, but we’re staying here. I thought it was about time that the real sky was seen, and with you reinforcing the structure, Camelot’s top has opened up, much like a flower.”

Merlin smiled, knowing that the whole Tower had shaken with his magic. The crowded structure that had blocked Camelot in had been opened in the way the original Magicians had intended, in the way the Tower was supposed to be, open to the Ocean as its past, a memory of those they’d lost and loved, never forgotten.

“My father’s furious, of course. He’s been holding council sessions the past few days, trying to understand it all.” Arthur sighed, suddenly looking more tired and older. “I can’t really explain it to him so…”

“Yes,” Merlin replied at once. “Arthur, you don’t need to ask. As soon as I can, I’ll explain it to him, to all of them. We’ll show them,” he added and Arthur smiled.

“The people from the Pickings are still down there, many of them needing medical treatment which I managed to arrange. None of them are strapped up anymore, and a lot have been reunited.” Arthur gave Merlin a wry smile, “Apparently your name holds more stock that we thought, and once they found out that Emrys had done everything the sorcerers were more than willing to help. They’d even stand against Uther if I wished it, that’s how in awe of your power they are.”

Merlin’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but Arthur was standing, not looking at him fully.

“I have to go,” he announced, full of regret. “There’s so much to do, organising new buildings and everything. The sorcerers have started building, many of them noting that their magic has improved since you merged the channels properly,” Arthur smiled at Merlin, pride and admiration shining in his eyes. “Building work is going well and we’ll hopefully be able to start moving people in soon.”

Magic really was a wonderful thing, Merlin realised. If the sorcerers had already begun developing the outer reaches of Camelot, it meant that they could finally feel the magic that Merlin had always been aware of. They were following Arthur through his influence, but there was something terrible Merlin couldn’t tell Arthur, not yet at least.

As Arthur left, Merlin closed his eyes, digging desperately for his magic. Any shred of it, any hint or sign, yet there was none. Merlin opened his eyes , trying to relax as the waves crashing against each other floated upwards, but he couldn’t, not when he could ruin everything.

The sorcerers followed him because he was Emrys, a man with power enough to stop the seas and command the Old Magic itself. When they found out that he was just a man, barely out of adolescence, they would be at odds with him – for they had all trained for years to be admitted into the Magicians – and when they found out that he’d lost his power? Without Merlin to guide them, who would they bow to?

No one. They would fight amongst themselves until another Nimueh arose, and Camelot would fall back into turmoil, hidden from the people and just when it had been about to change.

Perhaps Gaius would be able to help Merlin, but could he go to Gaius and burden him more, just when he was recovering? Gaius would never say anything about being burdened, but Merlin couldn’t do it, not yet anyway.

There was someone else. Someone who would understand it better, and Merlin knew he had to go see Kilgharrah. Only the Great Dragon would be able to help him, perhaps unblock his magic (if it was blocked like before) and everything would be alright again.

It took Merlin a few more hours before he could slip out of his room, with Hunith and Gaius coming to sit with him for a while, just before night set in and they retreated to their own rooms. He waited an hour or two to make sure no one else would interrupt before he clambered out of bed, grateful for the strong painkillers Gaius had shoved at him earlier. He still ached, yes, but it was manageable.

Merlin discovered that he was in the palace itself, and remembered how Arthur had mentioned that the Obsidian Circle lead down the heart of the Tower. By all means, he should be able to get to the dragon from here too.

Excalibur wasn’t mounted on the wall anymore, and Merlin spared a brief thought for the sword, wondering whether Arthur had shown it proudly to the Court yet or whether he was waiting for Merlin to be by his side.

The Circle was silent, save for the low hum of magic that vibrated over Merlin, welcoming him as if they were kin. It was strange to think that about the stones, but they were older than any living creature, save for the dragon himself, and Merlin knew that they were alive in a sense.

He didn’t dare touch the stones, unsure whether his magic would try to pull back and into him from the Obsidians. Instead, Merlin kept walking, past the Circle to a row of steps, leading down and away, eventually to deposit at a pristine doorway, Merlin discovered.

He exited onto the level of the Pickings through a nondescript door that only gave acess outward. It was easy then to move into the shuttle (Merlin didn’t have too long anymore, and he was used to transportation by now) and let it carry him down as far as possible.

Even with all the shortcuts, it was hours before Merlin stepped onto level ground, looking around himself as he tried to find the dragon. The area was cold, Kilgharrah perhaps not needing to belch his magic out in his fire any longer, and Merlin felt suddenly scared.

He’d been scared before, of course, but it had been a long time since Merlin hadn’t felt the comforting weight of his magic inside of him as a reassuring presence.

There was a sudden rush of air, and Merlin shielded his eyes, taking a step back. When he opened them again, letting his arm fall down, Kilgharrah was there, eyes bright, and inclined his head.

“Young warlock,” he said simply, “I was not expecting you this soon.”

Merlin frowned, shaking his head. “I need your help.”

The dragon took on an astonished look, curling up on himself and stretching out his forelegs. A chain still bound him, but it wouldn’t be there for much longer.

“I cannot think why,” Kilgharrah said, a puff of warm air escaping his maw. “You chose to sacrifice yourself instead of others and so have begun your destiny. Together with the Prince you will unite the lands and its people.”

The dragon looked smug, pleased with himself and the course of action Merlin had taken.

“It’s about my magic,” Merlin said, and the smile slipped from Kilgharrah’s lips as he tilted his head in question. “It’s gone.”

A terrible, harsh sound filled the cavern around them, bouncing off of the walls and spiralling upwards. It was so loud that Merlin was certain the entire City above would be able to hear him, but it didn’t make Kilgharrah lessen his laughter.

“Merlin,” he said kindly, once he’d calmed enough. “Your magic will never be gone. Even if it drains from every human, every animal and every stone, it will never drain from you.”

The dragon arched his neck until his head was close to Merlin’s, eyes huge yet warm, looking down on Merlin as kin.

“Have you tried any spells?” he asked.

“I can’t feel my magic,” Merlin burst out, disbelief on his face. “I can’t use spells without my magic.”

“You can’t feel it because you’re not listening to it.” Kilgharrah’s voice was suddenly sharp, as if reprimanding a child. “Did you think that pouring your life-magic into the earth would be without consequence?”

Merlin didn’t reply, yet shook his head dumbly.

“When you gave every inch of your magic, every single thread you possessed, in your sacrifice, the Old Religion made a deal. You gave up everything for Camelot and Arthur destroyed Nimueh.” Kilgharrah shifted, thick chain clinking across the stones on the ground.

“The Old Religion is clear in balance, you know that already. The Old Magic demands a life for a life, a sacrifice for a sacrifice.” He paused, curling his lips back into a smile. “It gave you your life and its magic to you. Your magic is in everything around you, and the magic of the earth is within you.”

It took a moment for Merlin to fully understand the words, and when they sunk in, he let out a breathy sigh, moving to sit on the ground.

The reason he couldn’t feel his magic within his chest was because there wasn’t such a thing as just his magic. When he’d forced it into the stones, his magic had joined with the Old Magic, fusing inseparably. In turn, when the balance had to be restored, Merlin was filled with the joined magic. In short, he was the earth and the earth was he.

“That is why you need to learn to listen. The druids taught you well enough for you to learn this skill, but you will still be able to use it before then.” Kilgharrah shifted again, pushing up to a standing position and opening his wings.

“I’ll be back,” Merlin promised softly, looking to the chain. Kilgharrah bowed his head again before he vanished, throwing his neck and shoulders backwards and falling into the darkness with a rush of air.

Merlin remained down in the darkness for a while, eventually conjuring a small, blue orb for light. As soon as he felt the rush of power, Merlin could feel the entire City, all the people and the places. It was almost too much, and then the rush of Ocean-magic came over him and he calmed, understanding that he would need further training from Aglain before he’d ever be fully comfortable with his powers once again.

Slowly, letting his ball of light guide him, Merlin made his way back upwards, the journey longer than the one he’d had down here. He stopped every now and then to look around, take in parts of Camelot he’d never been able to before, before continuing on. He felt the pain receding now, an evident side effect (though a pleasant one) from using his magic.

It was as he’d known all along; magic wanted to be used. It wanted to heal him and so Merlin let it, taking small steps out and through the Pickings levels, moving back to his room as sunrise dawned over Camelot.

“Where have you been?” was all Merlin heard before he was engulfed in an embrace, Arthur’s hair brushing against his cheek as the other man buried his head against Merlin’s neck.

“I was so worried Merlin,” he rushed out, pulling Merlin tighter and closer, so much so that it began to hurt, and Merlin had to disentangle himself.

“I’m okay,” he said, smiling and shaking his head at the worry on Arthur’s face. “See, look?” He brought Arthur’s hands up to his face, letting him feel every inch of his skin, reassuring and comforting.

“I needed to talk to the dragon, the real one down in the base of the Tower.” Arthur pulled back slightly, his touch questioning.

“I thought I’d lost my magic,” Merlin said, allowing himself to be pulled over to the bed, resting against Arthur’s shoulder. No matter how much he had healed with the magic, he was still weary and resting against Arthur was a more than welcome prospect.

“Instead my magic is greater, in everything around us.” He closed his eyes, letting Arthur slip a hand around his waist, thumbing against his side reassuringly. “I can still use it, but it’s both terrifying and beautiful, even more than it was before.”

He let out a slight snort at that, turning to look at Arthur in the growing light. The purple, orange and brightening light casting their colours against Arthur’s face, free of faux-sky that had covered Camelot before.

Arthur’s eyes were lidded as Merlin fitted their mouths together, the kiss tender and ghosting. Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin’s waist, pulling him closer, and the kiss changed, deepening into something more, something promising and new. They’d done this before, but before they’d been desperate, needing the closeness and the touch rather than savouring it.

This time, with the sun rising on a new day, casting Camelot in gold and orange as the seas outside calmed slightly, satisfied with the offering Merlin had given them, the kisses were gentle and even more meaningful. They shed their clothes slowly, savouring the flesh and moments of touch without rushing or pushing for more.

Together, they moved back onto the bed, Merlin crouched over Arthur this time, bare for the world to see, yet Arthur’s alone. They kissed again, needy and wanton, and Merlin darted his tongue against Arthur’s jaw, smiling as Arthur whispered nonsense promises and pledges into the shell of his ear, a hand clutching the hair at the back of Merlin’s head, daring him to stop.

Stopping was the last thought on Merlin’s mind, however, and he moved down, forcing Arthur to release his grip. While reluctant, Arthur moved his hand, watching with darkened eyes as Merlin took the time to kiss against his collarbone, over the pounding heartbeat and feather-light over ribs. Merlin had a destination, but he made no dart for the prize, instead savouring the moment with his lips and his tongue, making just as many nonsensical promises as Arthur with his teeth and his kisses.

A line of curled hairs brushed over Merlin’s chin, and he risked a glance back up to Arthur, moving further downwards until heated flesh pressed against Merlin’s cheek, and he turned his attention to Arthur’s erect cock.

They hadn’t had time to do this before, and for Merlin this was new territory. He ran a thumb over the base of Arthur’s cock, along the vein with a finger, before stroking back down and listening to Arthur’s hitch of breath before circling his balls, looking all the while for his reactions.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked softly, voice almost alien in the silence of the morning. Arthur tilted his head up, reading what Merlin wanted even through the haze of pleasure, and he nodded, throwing his head back against the pillows, exposing his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly in anticipation.

Merlin looked down to the cock in his hand, still stroking it, learning what would push Arthur to the limit and what have him curled in delight, eyes screwed shut and Merlin’s name against his lips.

As he moved forward, Merlin exhaled, sending a wave of air carding across the head of Arthur’s cock, sending a judder throughout the length. Arthur’s hip twitched, seeking more contact, and Merlin obliged, wrapping his lips around the tip.

Arthur reacted with a heady breath, shifting his weight so that he could watch Merlin slip his cock in and out, lips tightening and tongue circling. With each stroke of his tongue, Merlin grew in confidence, taking the smallest amount more in his mouth, until he was full with Arthur’s length, warm cock pressing against his mouth. Arthur jerked and moaned with every movement Merlin gave, and he knew that everything had been worth it, all of their hardships and issues, just to accumulate in this one moment.

Arthur’s hands sought out Merlin, warning him, and Merlin pulled back wetly, saliva trailing down his chin. Arthur lapped the trails up, kissing Merlin again and reaching his hand down, smoothing over Merlin’s abandoned erection and trapping it against his belly.

“You have no idea,” Arthur whispered into their kiss, “no idea how scared you’ve had me.”

Merlin wanted to say that he did know, because he had. When Arthur had left him…

“Promise me,” Arthur said, between dirty kisses. “Promise me-“ he couldn’t say what he wanted, and Merlin understood why. He kissed back with fervour, understanding what Arthur wanted and knowing why he’d never ask it of him.

They didn’t need to pledge themselves to each other any longer, technically now that the people were free. If this had been anything less than they were right now, then perhaps they could have maintained a respectable distance, friends yet nothing more.

But Merlin needed Arthur. No matter what, he needed him. A future without Arthur by his side was unimaginable, and while Arthur would never force him to answer, Merlin wanted him to know that the question was a given.

“I promise,” Merlin replied, shifting his hips so that Arthur could open his hand and rub their cocks together, sticky and perfect.

Arthur came first, thrusting up against Merlin and into his hand, his faced flushing as he came and forehead against Merlin’s shoulder. He wasn’t done though, and he kept his hand there until Merlin was done, mouthing against his neck with warm breath, kissing him tenderly on the lips as he came.

As the sun hit the sky fully, Merlin lay curled together with Arthur, under the covers and pressed against each other. They didn’t talk, but the entwined legs and hands spoke volumes. The morning grew brighter as the day began, but they slipped into a peaceful sleep, pressed up against each other in a bed made for one, ignoring the world for a few hours.

**.**

Arthur was still there when he woke, and Merlin couldn’t stop the goofy smile that slipped over his features. He was still asleep, breathing softly and entire body relaxed, but when Merlin shifted onto his side to watch him better, Arthur stirred, opening an eye slightly.

“What time is it?” he asked huskily, more asleep than awake.

“No idea,” Merlin replied with a smile, running a hand across Arthur’s stomach and over his chest before kissing him, wincing at the bite sleep had given their breath.

“Mm,” Arthur agreed, sitting up and stretching. “Plenty of time for that later, but my father is making a public announcement today in the Square. It’ll be televised, so we’ll be able to watch it with the others.  
That was how Merlin found himself in a large room, people close to him all around. Gaius and Hunith sat either side of him on a long sofa, hot drinks in hand as they looked at the television expectantly.

Mordred was also there, with a kind-faced man who had to be the boy’s father. Merlin had been introduced to them when he’d arrived, the father taking Merlin’s hand in earnest and thanking him profusely for all he’d done. He was the first who had done as such (Gaius and Hunith had thanked him in a different way, as people who loved him) and had been bright eyed when he’d mentioned so many others waiting to thank him.

The refugees were still out in the cold and those from the Pickings were still down near the cubicles, unhooked and free to roam, some reported to even be getting on well with their guards. That was all well and good for now, while they were reuniting and recovering, but they all must be looking to the future now, a future that Uther was about to announce for the whole of Camelot to hear.

The screen switched from the stock listings it had been reading, clearing to show the stern face of the King and his closest behind him. Arthur was there, at his father’s side, in full Camelot glory, chainmail and red cape, a connection to the world that the family line had been born from, according to Arthur, as the chainmail was a forgotten relic of the Old World, or at least Merlin had thought it was.

Merlin squinted, looking at the long sword at Arthur’s hip. He shifted his weight and Merlin smiled, recognising the golden panelling on the blade, naming Excalibur with ease.

Morgana was at the King’s other side, face carefully arranged to look blank and devoid of emotion, yet Merlin could see the fury in her eyes. The expression unsettled him, for Arthur had left only an hour or so ago and so would likely have missed any speculation on Uther’s announcement, whereas Morgana herself?

“I am speaking to you all today in light of recent events,” Uther began, stepping away from his family and onto a podium, complete with microphone so that his voice would be clear for all listening. He was a man used to getting what he wanted and this would be no exception.

“The entire city was shut down a few days ago,” he said, eyes darting over the crowd. “The problem has been sorted so I urge you not to worry. I think of myself as an understanding man and a fair ruler, so it is with a grave heart that I tell you the truth behind the events.”

Uther paused again and the camera zoomed in. Everyone in the room seemed to be leaning forwards, eyes fixed on the screen as Uther’s mouth opened and he began to speak once more.

“Nimueh, head of our Magicians and the strongest sorceress the world has seen for decades, is dead.” Even through the television Merlin could see the ripples of outrage and disbelief flooding through the gathered crowd.

“She was responsible for the Network shutting down, spreading fear and panic across our peaceful City.” Merlin’s eyes widened and comprehension dawned. Uther wouldn’t sink so low, would he?

“We trusted Nimueh,” he said, voice firm and carrying loud. “We all trusted her for what was best for this City, and instead I have discovered she was keeping people at our gates, leaving people in need down below to die and expecting us not to care about them.”

Merlin heard someone say ‘no’ in disbelief, but he couldn’t tell who had said it, anger curling in his own stomach. So that was why Morgana had been so furious. Uther was lying to the entire City, covering his tracks and blaming it all on Nimueh because she was dead.

“We have ordered building work to start all over Camelot so that these poor people can be at last given relief and shelter. Camelot will open its gates once again, and we will protect our people.” At Uther’s words, the camera panned out, and Merlin’s eyes saw the anger in Arthur’s stance instantly. One hand was at Excalibur’s hilt, eyes locked on his father’s back.

Morgana moved slightly, hissing something into his ear as Uther went on about what Nimueh had done, the terrible things she had hidden from them all, and Arthur relaxed slightly, shifting his weight backwards yet never taking his hand from his sword.

Not that Merlin could blame him for it; Uther deserved to pay for what he was doing.

The announcement tapered down after that, Uther still lying through his teeth and both Morgana and Arthur looking as if they were ready to kill the king where he stood. They didn’t, thankfully, and Uther stepped down after thanking his people for their compassion for opening their doors, looking to Arthur and nodding for him to follow as he returned to the palace.

Someone turned the television off and silence filled the room, choking Merlin until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He felt the magic roll off of him in his anger, yet he wasn’t aware of what it would do until it hit a plant on the window ledge, the flower sprouting to bloom instantly and more buds appearing, until the long stem carried six large flower heads, bright and beautiful.

A hand on his shoulder brought Merlin back, and Gaius looked at him grimly.

“Uther needs to know the truth of what you did,” he said, drawing nods from the others in the room. “I don’t doubt Arthur already explained it to him the best he could, but it needs to be backed with power. Preferably I’d say you need to gather the Magicians as they’re loyal to you now, but you don’t have that sort of time.”  
Gaius was moving towards the door, dragging Merlin with him.

“They’ll be back soon and we need to get down to the council rooms before Arthur ends up doing something he’ll regret,” Gaius said, and Merlin didn’t bother to disagree, nodding to the others before stalking alongside Gaius, keeping up with his former mentor as they moved through the castle and towards Uther.

They arrived at the council room –as Gaius had called it – before Uther had returned. The guards that had been stationed at the door were older than Merlin had expected, but it was in their favour as they recognised Gaius, opening the doors wide-eyed.

“Take a seat,” Gaius said to Merlin, gesturing to one of the long benches in the centre of the room, designed for holding council sessions with many people.

They didn’t have to wait long, for Arthur marched into the room, followed by his father. Gaius rose slowly, every day of his age showing on his face, and Merlin followed suit, a little hesitant. The anger on Arthur’s face softened as he caught Merlin’s eye, but then Uther spoke and the fury was back.

“Gaius,” the king breathed out, stepping forwards as if to embrace an old friend and then thinking better of it, clearly remembering the past and what he had done to lose a friendship.

“Uther,” Gaius replied, not bothering this time with titles. “I’m sure you understand why Arthur is here, but it might interest you to know that Merlin and myself are here for the same reason.”

Uther barely reacted, flicking a glance over Merlin disdainfully and looking to Arthur.

“This is the boy you claimed was helping you to reach a solution on the power shortages,” Uther said, and Merlin raised an eyebrow, amused that the king had remembered him from the garden.

Arthur didn’t get a chance to reply, for Uther was speaking again.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do for you,” he said, frowning. “It is regretful that you were exiled, Gaius, and now Nimueh has been defeated perhaps you could-“

“Merlin is Balinor Emrys’ son. He comes from the Island of Ealdor, miles across the Ocean. He and his mother were the only survivors that we know of who made the journey, and that was thanks in large to the elemental nature in Merlin’s magic.” Gaius’ voice was blunt, eyes fixed solely on the king.

“Elemental nature?” Uther commented, looking at Merlin again, a considering look on his face, as if he was judging Merlin’s worth. “And a powerful Dragonlord?”

The words drew a ripple of disgust through Merlin as he realised that, for Uther, nothing had changed. He was unwilling to accept the truth, instead blaming it on the dead, and even now didn’t believe that there was an alternative to the problem than sucking the magic out of innocents.

“He is the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever seen, and he is the reason Camelot is flourishing after the power block,” Gaius said firmly, and Arthur stepped forwards, cloak sweeping the floor.

“Merlin helped me to free the people you had enslaved,” he began. “Merlin is the reason these people don’t need to be tortured any longer and can live their lives. Merlin is the reason that our future now exists, as well as thoughts to expand.” Arthur gritted his jaw before the next sentence, taking a deep breath and flaring his nostrils.

“Merlin is the reason I know the truth about what you did to my mother and he is the only one who told me that my own father has been lying to me my entire life.” Arthur spat out the words and then tilted his head back, waiting for what Uther would say in his defence.

“I did what I had to for this City,” he began, but Merlin couldn’t stand the excuses any more.

“You have cause so much suffering for so many people,” he said, voice low. He could feel the magic around him responding, wanting to creep towards Uther and show him exactly how powerful he was, but he restrained it.

“I understand that it was difficult, but do you know how many people you caused to suffer? I have lived in the refugee camps, I have been enslaved, and I would rather die than be forced into a life of that.” Merlin took in a deep breath before continuing. “You didn’t even bother to look for other ways, instead enslaving thousands of people and chaining a dragon and ripping his magic from him too.”

Merlin shook his head, lip curling in disgust. “You don’t even care about the people you loved, casting them aside when they learnt the truth and wanted to change it for the good. You lie to your own people about Nimueh and then act as if you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Gaius clasped his shoulder again and Merlin stilled, swallowing thickly and nodding. He’d said what he needed to and Gaius had brought him back before he’d done something he’d regret.

“I did what I needed to for my kingdom,” Uther said, eyes cold. “And until you understand what sacrifices mean, you are nothing but a peasant and a fool.”

With a single, withering look at his son, Uther walked from the room, ignoring Arthur’s call for him to stay. The king was done with the subject and that was that, no matter that he was lying to millions of people.

“We tried,” Gaius said, defeated. “We tried to make him see sense, but I fear that it is far too late. Uther cares little for anyone anymore, only that he is right.”

Arthur made a noise of agreement, a sad little noise only a child could make when learning of the humanity of its father.

“I always thought he was more,” Arthur said, and Merlin moved to his side instantly, hating the sadness Uther had caused.

“I hate to defend him, but he didn’t know what to do. Now that the truth is out, he can’t do anything but stick to his pride, as all powerful men do when they’re alone.” Arthur calmed a little at his words, but when he looked at Merlin there was an odd expression on his face.

“He won’t listen to me or Morgana, and even Gaius wasn’t a shock enough,” Arthur said, sending a small smile Gaius’ way. “I need…” Arthur trailed off. “I want…”

Merlin looked at him, concerned, not understanding. Gaius, on the other hand, nodded and looked warmly at Merlin.

“I need to collect my things as well as tell Aglain to prepare everyone to move. Some of the druids may prefer to remain in the Wasteland, of course,” Merlin thought of Alvarr, “but the majority will rejoice that they can finally enter Camelot.”

Now Merlin understood what Arthur had been asking, and the one person who would be able to change Uther’s stance. If Ygraine couldn’t do it, then there was no hope left to change Uther’s mind, and the crown would have to be won in bloodshed.

They didn’t set off for the Wastelands right away, instead returning to their wing of the palace, Arthur and Hunith meeting for the first time under Merlin’s eye. They had met before, often in fact, but Merlin had never seen their interactions.

Arthur was charming, yet Merlin could see the slight insecurities under his façade, the slightly cautious way he acted around Hunith, as if she was a delicate woman. It might have been to do with the fact that she was a mother, but most likely more to do with the fact she was Merlin’s mother.

They had dinner together, Mordred and his father joining their little family officially, and the meal was full of laughter and smiles, even though Merlin knew a whirlpool of nerves had to be churning in the pit of Arthur’s stomach at the prospect of meeting his mother.

Underneath the table, Merlin held onto Arthur’s hand tightly, and Arthur gripped back with a little, secretive smile. When Merlin looked across the table, he caught his mother’s proud gaze, and she looked away a moment later, dabbing at the corner of her eyes in an undoubtedly soppy manner that Merlin hoped Arthur had overlooked.

“We could wait until tomorrow,” Gaius said, looking at the setting sun and then at the ball of nerves Arthur had been reduced to. “Except I fear that it wouldn’t do you much good.”

Gaius looked over at Mordred, “We can collect your possessions too?”

An answering nod was all he got, and Merlin couldn’t blame him for not wanting to go back down to Alvarr and leave his father.

They set off almost immediately, after a short period of time that Gaius took to gather a few bags, for the items he wanted extra care taken with. During that time, Arthur had drawn Merlin aside, panicked look on his face as he’d demanded to know if his clothes were okay and his hair perfect. Merlin had laughed the questions off and kissed Arthur, calling him perfect, and Arthur had calmed a little.

“She loves you,” Merlin said as they left the room, heading down to the Obsidian Circle. “She always has and always will, even if you get on my nerves and I turn you into some kind of Old World toad or something.”

That, thankfully, had drawn a chuckle from Arthur, and they’d walked down to the Picking levels a little calmer, following Gaius as he led them to a secretive door, opening it and nodding to himself as a shuttle was revealed.

“This will take us down to the lock,” he said, “though the occasions for me using it this time are much happier than the last two times.”

Merlin smiled, glad for the fact that they could talk about their experiences. He still felt guilty for what he had put Gaius through, but the old man had been firm in telling Merlin that it had had to happen or else Merlin would have arrived in Camelot too late. Their timing had been perfect, and Gaius didn’t want to hear a word of Merlin’s apologies.

The shuttle was slow-moving, chugging down its chute, unaware to its passengers’ growing trepidation. Even when they hit the ground level they had to walk for hours, all the while Arthur’s anxiety growing.

Still, they reached the bottom soon, stepping out and Merlin and Gaius readjusting to the gloom of the Wastelands. Merlin smiled as he caught site of the knobbly trees scattered across his vision, sharing a look with Gaius.

While Camelot was their home, the Wastelands with its trees and bogs would always hold a place in their hearts. Even in this vile land, life had grown and flourished. Perhaps not as pretty as the flowers in the royal gardens, but beautiful in their own right.

As they walked, Merlin told Arthur stories of his time here, about the trees and their healing sap, about the Urchin children – even spotting a few in the distance. Arthur absorbed the information with interest, walking through unfamiliar ground as if he’d grown up on the land, and Merlin would be lying if he said he didn’t envy the natural skill of bog-walking Arthur seemed to possess.

“Some of us are born princes,” Arthur drawled jokingly. “We’re born perfect, I’m sorry you weren’t.”

That earned him an elbow in the side, and finally Arthur slipped slightly, down onto his knees and splaying a hand out in a puddle, wincing as his hand came back up coated in mud.

Merlin laughed, running forwards as Arthur made to wipe his hand on him, skidding on patches of mud as Gaius looked on with a faux stern attitude, calling for them to be more careful or else they’d break their necks.

The druid camp had come into view miles back, and Gaius had spent the time explaining the community – and by association Merlin’s role within the druids – to Arthur. Arthur had listened intently, particularly whenever Gaius mentioned Merlin or his own work, as Gaius was linked with his mother.

Someone must have scouted them across the Wasteland for a group of druids were waiting out of the camp. Children had joined them, holding scraps of coloured cloth and waving them with joy in their face, excited yet not quite understanding why.

There was a woman at the front of the group, hair bundled on top of her head and face pale as she scanned their faces. Merlin recognised Ygraine and smiled, not wanting to ruin the surprise just yet, as Arthur hadn’t noticed her.

The closer they got, the more Arthur hung back. Merlin took the lead, with Gaius falling behind him, between him and Arthur. Merlin didn’t wait, knowing that was not what Arthur would want, and so made forward to greet the druids and catch their attention so that Arthur could spend time with Ygraine.

“Merlin!” a voice called, strong and elated, and then Ygraine was pushing forwards, throwing her arms around Merlin and holding him tightly.

“You made it,” she whispered, pushing him back to hold his face and kiss his cheek. “Look at you, you did it!”

Tears welled in her eyes as she continued, “We all felt the spike of magic, but we feared the worst until the scouts said they’d seen you.” She pulled him close again, tucking her head against his neck as Gaius stepped closer to the group.

She didn’t quite pull away as she had before, still with Merlin’s arms wrapped around her, but she moved back slightly, looking at him.

“Did you…” she began, and Merlin fought his smile down. “I mean, did you get to see him? How was he? Unless…” Ygraine frowned, not finishing that terrible sentence.

Instead, Merlin leant down a little, speaking quietly against her ear.

“It’s always better to judge for yourself, so why don’t you ask him instead of me telling you?” With that, Merlin let go of Ygraine and she turned shell-shocked eyes away from Merlin and to Arthur, who was standing a little way back from the group, mud caked up over his shoes and the bottom of his trousers.

“A… Arthur?” she asked, almost to herself.

“He wanted to see you,” Merlin said quietly, nodding towards Arthur. “He’s been painfully nervous,” was all Merlin managed to say before Ygraine was off, walking slowly towards the son she’d lost years ago.

As Ygraine moved over the space between them, she picked up her pace, running by the time Arthur took a sole step forwards and she flung her arms around him, tears falling down her face.

Merlin looked on with a smile, watching as Ygraine rushed out her words and Arthur looked so lost and yet so happy. Just how Merlin had found his mother again, Ygraine had been returned to her son. All the fears that Arthur must have been feeling were peeled away as Ygraine kept holding her son, refusing to let him go more than a bare second without her hand smoothing his face or her pressing a kiss on his brow.

“Emrys,” a warm, deep voice greeted, and Aglain stepped through the druids, arms wide open. “Well done.”

Merlin couldn’t help the smile that came over him, stepping forwards and accepting Aglain’s one-armed hug, letting him draw him away from Arthur and into the druid camp for a more private talk.

“Almost all of us will be joining you in Camelot when we can,” he began, pouring Merlin a cup of water and offering him some food. Dinner had been quite a few hours ago, so Merlin took the cut-up root sections gratefully, chewing on the rough bark and enjoying the tangy taste that filled his mouth.

“Alvarr has refused to join us, and most of his followers have pledged the same,” Aglain continued, mouth downturned in disapproval. “When we felt your magic in the earth, he snapped.”

Merlin looked up in shock, pausing in chewing. “What did he do?” he asked quietly, never having really known Alvarr so not being able to judge what he was capable of.

“He got into a fight and killed someone. It may not sound too terrible a deed, but we are a peaceful group.” Aglain sighed heavily, “As such he was exiled from the camp and took his followers with him. They’re somewhere in the Wastelands, probably over the other side completely, and will no doubt be plotting revenge against you.”

“But I saved him,” Merlin couldn’t help but protest, and Aglain rolled his eyes, nodding.

“Exactly. But he believes that he should have been the one to save us all, using Mordred. Nothing will shake that from his head, and I wanted to warn you to be careful. Leave a man down here thinking he can run this place and he will get ideas. If you leave him here, or even force him up to Camelot, he will stew and try to take you down.” Aglain took one of the roots himself, chewing on it as Merlin was.

“Give a man people and he’ll build himself up as a war leader. I just wanted you to take care of him, be aware that given a smidgeon of a chance, he would see you dead.” With that, Aglain asked if there were any questions Merlin had.

Merlin relayed what Kilgharrah had said about his magic, and how overwhelming it could be. Aglain had listened as his teacher and smiled.

“You won’t need it for long,” he said, “but I am more than willing to offer my tutelage. Meditation is a core factor to control elemental magic, let alone the elements themselves. You are bound to the earth now and it will be perhaps the most important skill you’ll need to learn, but learn it you will, and I have a feeling you’ll do so very quickly.”

Even now, after he’d fulfilled the prophecy and completed his task, the fact that Aglain had such faith in him warmed Merlin, and he thanked the druid leader graciously. He explained that they couldn’t take them back up to Camelot just yet, but it was only a matter of days now, what with building work advancing as sorcerers came into their proper power, recovering from the binding spells that had chained them to Nimueh’s will.

“I shall let everyone know,” Aglain said. “Though I assume Eigyr will be travelling with you now, considering that she is Queen Ygraine?”

Merlin didn’t ask how Aglain knew and simply nodded.

“I fear she is the only one who will be able to push Uther to see the truth. At the very best she’ll convince him to abdicate the throne so that Arthur can take over,” Merlin said, before he realised that Aglain had no idea about Uther, Arthur and Ygraine.

“Do you trust Arthur to be a good king?” he asked instead, watching Merlin closely for his reaction.

“I trust him to be the best,” came Merlin’s reply, and Aglain nodded, smile gracing his lips.

“Then we shall follow him, for he sounds like a good man. That is exactly the kind we need to rule this land, a good man with someone he cares about by his side.” Aglain’s smile widened as Merlin looked up in shock.

“You deserve the happiness,” he said, before wandering off to the back of the tent, pulling something from a box and returning to Merlin.

“Here, this book will be able to guide you until I can enter Camelot,” Aglain said, pressing a small, leather-bound book into Merlin’s hand. He flicked through the pages, looking at the various meditative positions and smiling in thanks. It wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it would help Merlin ease back into his teachings and grow more comfortable with his magic.

They parted shortly after that, Merlin returning to Gaius’ tent to help his group pack up. Ygraine and Arthur were still huddled together, shooting glances at each other as if letting the other slip from their site would mean they were gone forever. Merlin smiled and walked over to Gaius, helping the man pack up books and plants, frowning as he realised they had no real way of transporting the boxes across the Wasteland.

“Merlin,” Gaius said, pulling back from organising a stack of dried herbs. His tone indicated that Merlin was being particularly slow, but Merlin only frowned.

“My goodness,” Gaius muttered, “I know you’re powerful and everything now, but did it strike you that I’m not just an old codger? Magic is how we’ll get them across the Wasteland. Plenty in me and I doubt you’ll let me do it all by myself.”

Merlin gave a little laugh. “Of course,” he said. “It just seems odd to think that I’ll be able to do that now.”

Gaius shot him a curious look, weighted as if fearing Merlin’s thoughts, but Merlin hastened to add that it was nothing like that.

“I just mean,” he said, “that it will be odd using magic for myself. Before it was juts building up to a bigger destiny, but I’m quite enjoying using magic for other things.”

“Don’t be fooled into thinking your job is done,” Gaius cautioned, filling one of his bags with delicate equipment. “I have no doubt that the Obsidians will call for your help again, especially with all this building going on in Camelot.”

The physician gave a wry grin. “And I doubt you’ll be able to stop yourself, for the magic in you will need a release too, I’m sure.”

They continued packing, Merlin wandering over to his former room and packing up everything in there. Arthur entered shortly after, looking tired yet satisfied, warmth in his eyes as he approached Merlin, pulling him close without a word.

“Thank you,” he whispered against Merlin’s neck.

Merlin cradled his head against him, smiling and pressing a kiss to the side of Arthur’s head.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he began. “I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before-“

“It’s okay,” Arthur said, pulling back and smiling. ”It doesn’t matter now.”

They moved through the room together, packing everything in silence. It was comfortable with Arthur, as it always had been really, and while he couldn’t specifically feel the thread of magic that was drawn to Arthur, Merlin could feel the hum that it was there. A part of the earth would always love Arthur, and that was something that Merlin felt proud that he’d made happen.

The night passed, but none of the druids slept. As the camp awakened, word spreading that Emrys was here, druids came by Gaius’ tent, seeking to thank Merlin for what he had done and to impart gifts upon him. Most were woven tokens, small scraps of cloth with animals from the Old World or spells woven into them, but a few people offered larger gifts, including, notably, a goat that nipped at his fingers, bleating happily.

The goat reminded him of the one they had in Ealdor, and Merlin had been about to thank the man and take the goat when Gaius had sternly told him that he was to live in the palace for now, and that was no place for a goat. There was too much to do, but when things settled then yes, Merlin could have a goat.

Both Merlin and the man trying to give the goat away looked crestfallen at Gaius’ words, but the goat seemed content to nibble on the corner of Merlin’s jumper, bleating when the man pulled it away.

“But Gaius,” Merlin began again, gesturing at the billy who didn’t want to leave. “He already likes me.”

Arthur snorted from where he was packing up the last of the books, and Merlin turned to glare at him. Gaius took the opportunity to usher the goat from the tent, and the matter was closed.

They were done soon after, and Gaius spoke the spell aloud that would carry the boxes in neat procession behind them. The boxes, true to the spell, lined up with a little quiver, picking themselves up though the contents would have been too heavy for even Arthur to carry.

It seemed like the entire camp this time had come to see them off, and they moved through the druids with smiles and well-wishes bestowed upon them.

They walked in a row, Gaius and Ygraine beside Arthur and Merlin, carefully picking their way through the land, guided by a sliver of light shining in from the side as dawn broke outside. Refugees would be stirring awake by now, unaware that above, their whole lives were about to be changed for the better.

Ygraine was silent as they moved up in the shuttle, the luggage cluttering impatiently at their feet. She didn’t say a word until they exited the shuttle and walked to the small door that would take them directly to the palace.

“I can’t,” she said suddenly, stopping dead in her tracks and shaking her head. “I can’t do this.”

Arthur whipped around instantly, moving back to take Ygraine’s hands. He spoke quietly to her, out of Merlin’s range of hearing, but Ygraine still shook her head, like a frightened animal.

“No, I can’t,” she repeated, and Merlin nodded for Gaius to stay back as he walked forwards.

“Nimueh’s dead,” Merlin said, and Ygraine looked at him in shock. “Arthur killed her, so she can’t hurt you anymore.”

Arthur stepped aside slightly, watching Merlin closely.

“We need you to talk to Uther. I know you don’t want to, especially after everything he did to you, but look at Arthur. Arthur loves you, we all do. Wait until you meet my mum, she’ll love you too, and Mordred’s father as well. There’s Morgana and Gwen too, all these people who are just waiting for you to fit into our family, yet you don’t want to?” Merlin smiled softly.

“You should never have been exiled, but now that you have the chance to come back, your people need you.” He bit his lip, taking a risk with the next sentence. “You abandoned them back then, don’t do the same now.”  
Something clicked behind Ygraine’s eyes and she looked over to Arthur, drinking in confidence from her son’s form.

“But-“ she began, only to have Arthur cut her off.

“We’ll be there. Merlin and me, probably half of the Court. They all need to see you, to understand that this isn’t s problem that can just be swept away. My father lied to me my whole life, told me you were dead and now we have a chance to prove to him that this is bigger than his reputation. Lives were risked and so many people died that he needs to realise…” Arthur trailed off, sighing deeply to calm himself.

“He needs to realise that what he did was wrong. It wasn’t just Nimueh, it was him.” He looked at Merlin, nodding to him, “Merlin helped me realise this, and the only person who can help Uther is you.”

Ygraine seemed to draw back for a moment, before she closed her eyes and nodded, reaching for Arthur’s hand once more. He took it without hesitation, leading his mother through the door and up a cobbled staircase, on and on until they reached the Obsidian Circle.

“They moved them,” she whispered, letting Arthur’s hand go as she took a step closer to the giant stones. “And they carved into them even more.”

Sadness tinged her voice, and Merlin scrabbled to pull his Obsidian from under his top, Arthur doing the same shortly after. Ygraine smiled and nodded, as if the sacrifice the stones had undergone was worth it just to see Merlin and Arthur with their own Obsidians.

“They moved them when I was young,” Arthur said, fingers curled around his stone. “It was Nimueh’s idea, but father said he couldn’t bear to go down to your garden anymore.”

Ygraine considered that for a moment before she nodded and left the stones, following after Gaius and letting Arthur and merlin trail her.

Gaius was already unpacking in his rooms, or so Hunith came to tell them, and she went over to Ygraine, introducing herself kindly and leading the former queen away so she could bathe and change, prepare to meet the king.

“What do you think will happen?” Merlin asked as he and Arthur returned to their rooms, changing their bog-stained clothes.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied, stifling a yawn. Merlin couldn’t help but copy the action, and gave a jaw-cracking yawn of his own, looking at his bed forlornly.

“When we’re done we can come back and sleep, but we have to do this now or we’ll never do it,” Arthur reminded Merlin, who looked at him with a grin and nodded.

They dressed –Arthur back into his cloak and Merlin into some clean, plain clothes - and made to leave when Arthur stopped Merlin, something in his hands. It was a bundle of gold-embroidered blue fabric, a thick chain connecting the two ends of the cloak, designed to be fitted across the chest.

“I had this made for you,” Arthur said quietly, unfurling the cloak and spreading it across Merlin’s shoulders. The chain rested against his collar, a golden dragon – Arthur – dead centre over his chest.

“It’s akin to what the old sorcerers of the past would wear, and it also has our dragon to remind you of everything we’ve been through.” Arthur paused, looking suddenly nervous. “If you should accept… I want you to be my closest advisor as well as lead the Magicians. Without you, I’d be nothing and I can’t rule this City without you.”

He looked so young and uncertain that Merlin smoothed a hand over his cheek and kissed his lips gently, promising Arthur his allegiance.

“Thank you,” he said a moment later, running his fingers over the golden dragon, marvelling at the cool metal and the detail of the dragon. It was his dragon, their dragon, and meant more than any title or position ever could.

They left the room and entered the lounge area, seeing Hunith and Ygraine already there. Ygraine had washed, hair piled on her head and still with traces of the Wasteland, a reminder to Uther of what he had done. She was in a plain dress, but it worked for her, thin and frail and looking every inch the exiled queen she had become.

Arthur offered her his arm, and Merlin took Arthur’s other side, a trio of power moving silently through the castle.

As Arthur had predicted, Uther was in the middle of a council session, which would be perfect for Ygraine to make her entrance. Not only would Uther’s closest advisors be there – the very same who had helped him to banish Ygraine – but Morgana and a younger generation along with their servants would be in attendance. Servants would push the gossip mill faster, Ygraine’s return spiralling across the castle uncontrollably.

Arthur led them to a more open part of the castle and they passed others now, some shooting speculative glances at Ygraine before bowing at Arthur respectfully. They only met one person who tripped over himself to rest at Merlin’s feet, whimpering the name Emrys and how it was an honour to meet him. Merlin had flushed red and told the sorcerer to stand, making it clear he was just a normal person. The man didn’t seem to take it in though, scuttling off with a brilliant smile on his face at meeting the famous warlock himself.

A few of the older guards and servants looked at Ygraine first, eyes wide and muttering forms of ‘my lady’ or ‘your highness’ to her, staring in reverence as she bowed her head, traces of shy Eigyr buried deep down as Ygraine returned to what she had always been.

There were two sentries posted at the door to the council rooms, and they made as if to stop Arthur from entering until they laid eyes on Ygraine.

“If you don’t mind,” she said firmly, and Merlin was sure only he and Arthur could see the tremor of nerves in her shoulders and the way her hands shook. “You will step aside and open the doors. Your Queen and Prince demand it so.”

Merlin smiled to himself as the guards hastened to her order, pushing the doors inward with a groan of metal and wood, letting Ygraine, Arthur and Merlin into the room. Uther was listening to a councilman speak and he didn’t even look up as they entered, Ygraine now in the middle of the two men, but silence began to spread through the room as people turned, recognising the supposedly dead queen alongside her son.

They walked through the room, crowds parting to let them aside, and Merlin fought the grin that threatened his face as Morgana and Gwen noticed them, Morgana’s eyebrows shooting upwards and Gwen’s mouth opening slightly.

The king was still engrossed in the discussion, the small group gathered by the throne the last to notice the newcomers. He didn’t deserve the kindness Ygraine was showing him; it would have been so easy for her just to cut him down, publically release the truth and left him to deal with the consequences, but instead she had come to talk to him face-to-face, offer Uther one last chance to redeem himself.

Noticing the hush that had fallen over the room, the man who had been speaking cut himself off, looking over his shoulder with a frown before paling, looking back at Uther with wide eyes.

“You pledged to be a man of honour,” Ygraine said, the shake and uncertainty flowing from her as she faced the man she had loved and been betrayed by. “How far you have come,” she said, shaking her head in sadness.

That caught Uther’s attention, and he looked up with a jerk of his head, nostrils flaring as he saw Ygraine.  
“Out!” he roared to the room, standing from his throne and waving his arms. “All of you, out!”

The room cleared quickly, everyone inside rushing to spread the news that the queen was back and the king had lied of her death. When the room silenced once more, it was only Uther, Ygraine, Arthur, Merlin, Morgana and Gwen left, the latter pair refusing to move even though Gwen was shooting worried glances to her Lady.

Ygraine stepped out of the protection Arthur and Merlin had afforded her and walked closer to the throne, taking careful and measured steps until she was a few arm lengths away from Uther.

“I remember a young man, not yet a king, who made a pledge to me and his kingdom in the safety of our room. I remember a young man who pledged never to knowingly cause harm to his people, to protect and serve them.” Ygraine gave a sad sigh. “Instead you chose the easiest way out, condemning thousands of people to a horrific life and ignoring their needs simply because they came from the Old World.”

She was angry now, and anger fuelled her words. “But you know what? I’ve lived in that world, been one of its people, and I found that barren landscape far more forgiving that you ever were as king. People lived and died easily, but I would rather be subject to that than the cruelty you brought on those you swore to protect.”  
Uther was still standing, hands tightened into fists by his side. “Ygraine, please-“

“No,” she said with fury. “No, you don’t get to interrupt me. You said everything you needed to twenty years ago. It’s my turn now, and I’m not afraid to speak my mind this time.” She took a deep breath. “You’re not the man I fell in love with, not my husband or my king. I will not bow to you and I will not fear you.”

Uther’s body jerked in surprise at the words, as if he’d never considered Ygraine ever thinking for herself. By exiling his queen, he had made her into the woman she should be, empowered her to fight for her son’s throne, to call out the lies and the false promises Uther would make. She was the only one who could, the only one who had the right and need to do this.

“Nimueh wasn’t the only one who was responsible for the crimes. This all started way before we were even born, true, but you never once looked for an alternative solution.” She swallowed thickly, confidence wavering slightly. “Do you know how many people were taken? How many families were torn apart and how many children were killed by your police as a bit of fun?”

Merlin heard the sharp intake of breath from Gwen and looked over to her, worried. He noticed her eyes –Morgana’s too – were fixed on Ygraine, hanging on every word she spoke.

“Not only that, but you grew greedy. When we couldn’t conceive a child, you went to Nimueh and asked her to sacrifice more magic and another life for our son.” She turned to Arthur, love in her eyes. “I do not regret the product of that choice, only the consequences. I love Arthur with all my heart and more, but what you did was wrong and there were other options.”

“You chose your exile,” Uther said, eyes raging and voice firm. He’d had years to build up his convictions, ease the guilt by convincing himself there wasn’t another option and they’d had to do what they had done.

“The alternative was turning a blind eye to what you were doing. We were your friends, people who trusted you, and yet Balinor couldn’t convince you to see sense and you cast Gaius aside as easily as a spoilt apple.” Ygraine clenched her jaw before continuing.

“I was too afraid back then. I was a afraid that losing you would be the worst thing that could ever happen, but I was strong enough to know what was right and wrong, and I still do. You lied to your kingdom, twisted the truth, how can you still be fit to rule?” Ygraine’s question caused Uther to sink down until he was seated in his throne, expression thunderous and eyes fixed on her as if nothing else existed.

“You threw away your friends, the woman who loved you and all so that you could look good for the public.” She shook her head with a bitter smile, glancing at Merlin and Arthur. “And now you’ve lost your son and the man who is the sole reason Camelot stands right now. Think about that; Merlin here solved all of your problems because he wanted to save the people you’d condemned. He could have been on your side, but you chose to lie and twist the truth so that a dead woman gets the blame.”

“I haven’t lost them,” Uther muttered, voice angry and low.

“Haven’t you?” Ygraine countered. “Merlin is loyal to Arthur and Arthur… how can he trust a man who has lied to him his entire life and continues to lie?”

Silence filled the room, Uther locked in eye contact with Ygraine. Morgana was shooting looks at the pair of them, unsure where to settle her gaze, while Gwen was looking worriedly at Ygraine. Beside him, Arthur shifted his weight uncomfortably, running a tongue over his lips as if to speak up.

“You are not worthy to bear the crown,” Ygraine said, breaking the silence and looking away from Uther. “If you had any respect for yourself and Camelot, you would pass the throne to Arthur and learn from him.”

There was no room for negotiation in her tone, but Uther wasn’t buying it.

“How dare you,” he said quietly, the volume no less diminishing the power in the words. “How dare you enter my kingdom and tell me what to do? I may have loved you, but it is clear to me that you are not that woman anymore.”

Ygraine tilted her chin defiantly. “This is who I was supposed to be, before you stole my heart. I loved you Uther, but do you know how much it hurt to have you betray me? Twice?”

Uther didn’t reply, eyes sliding over Merlin, then Arthur and finally back to Ygraine.

“I’ve had enough,” he announced, pushing himself from the throne once more. “You can choose to leave now or I shall have guards escort you, either way I want you gone.”

With one pitiful look at her husband, Ygraine turned on her heel and left, Arthur and Merlin following her closely, Morgana and Gwen trailing them in turn. No one spoke, the procession marking forwards in silence until they returned to their wing of the castle, tucked out of Uther’s sight but hopefully still clear in his mind.

Hunith and Gaius were waiting as they entered the lounge, the pair standing up from their seats and looking at the group in trepidation. Ygraine went to the sofa first and sat down, sinking heavily as the weight of her actions settled around her and the realisation that she had seen Uther again for the first time in twenty years sunk in.

“How did it go?” Hunith asked as she sat down beside Ygraine, looking at Merlin and Arthur for answers.

Arthur sighed. “As expected. He’s as helpful as a wall of rock and as willing to move. I just thought that if it was her…”

He trailed off and Merlin squeezed his hand gently, letting go again a moment later.

“Come on,” Merlin said to Gwen and Morgana. “I owe you an explanation I supposed.”

It would be better to get everything cleared up now, so Merlin nodded for Arthur to stay with Ygraine while he would talk to Morgana and Gwen.

He led them into their bedroom, throwing open the large windows as soon as he entered, smiling as a gentle breeze entered through the open glass. He shucked his cloak off, carefully hanging it in the wardrobe next to Arthur’s empty hanger, before he returned to the bed, sitting down on the comfy mattress.

“I’m so happy to see you,” Merlin began, smiling at the faces of his friends. He wanted to reach out and hug them, but he didn’t have that right at the moment. The only thing Merlin could do now was explain what he had done and why, and hope that they could bring themselves to forgive him.

Morgana stared at Merlin, frown on her brow and a disgusted look on her face. Gwen sat beside her, twisting her hands in her lap and shooting speculative glances between him and the door, clearly thinking of Arthur.

“You snuck out of the house like a traitorous rat,” Morgana hissed, folding her arms over her chest. “Not even a note, not a hint of you even being there… do you know what we thought?”

Morgana arched an eyebrow as she leant forward, looking directly at Merlin. Merlin shook his head slowly, unable to look away from her.

“We thought Nimueh had snatched you in the night. We searched everywhere for you, any sign of you, and then, after days of worrying, Morgause tells me that you left to protect us.” Merlin kept her gaze as she stood, narrowing her eyes and stepping towards him.

“I don’t need protecting,” she said. “And the fact that you couldn’t even face us to tell us about it, instead cowering like a beaten dog?”

Gwen put her hand out, catching Morgana’s and she looked at her meaningfully, calming Morgana a little.

“What Morgana means,” Gwen said calmly, ever the diplomat. “Is that we were worried about you, and hurt. Morgause said that you’d been in contact with her, but why? Why would you go to Morgause when we could have helped you?”

Merlin knew he had fucked everything up. He’d wanted to protect Morgana and Gwen, but in the end he’d just ended up hurting them more.

“You won’t believe me when I say that I didn’t have a choice but to leave without notice,” Merlin began, and Morgana gave a bark of cold laughter.

“Before, I didn’t tell you the entire story,” Merlin said, recounting a shortened history for them, including Arthur this time.

“When I ran from your forge,” Merlin said, but Gwen cut across him.

“You realised that it was Arthur you’d been looking for all this time?” Merlin nodded. “But back at the Isle… you… I mean Arthur hadn’t for ages, but there was you and you two…” she trailed off, but Merlin understood what Gwen was asking.

“I didn’t enchant Arthur,” he said, and Gwen nodded, as though she hadn’t thought it likely anyway. “I honestly don’t know how. My magic… I can use it to sway people, for example I think that it helped you to see who I was so that you’d help me, but to actually enchant people? I don’t know if it’s even possible for me.”

Merlin licked his lips, focusing on Gwen and trying not to look at Morgana.

“I think my magic knew who Arthur was, could send the Obsidian or the magic in him. I was drawn to him, and him to me.” Merlin received a small smile from Gwen, and he knew that they would be okay. Now, there was just Morgana.

“What did you mean when you said you didn’t know if it was even possible for you?” Morgana asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Exactly what I said,” Merlin replied, finally looking at her fully. She had calmed a little, but Merlin knew he wasn’t out of the woods just yet.

“But it can be done,” Morgana persisted. “I’ve seen it happen, learnt the spells myself for times when there is no other choice.”

Inclining his head, Merlin explained about his connection to the Old Magic, and how his magic was now around him. Morgana’s eyes widened when Merlin told her of the balance struck at the Obsidian Circle, and how his magic inside of him was a hybrid of the magic he’d been born with and that or the earth.

“So the earth magic won’t let you enchant someone?” Morgana asked, voice dubious.

“Maybe if I was in danger and really needed to,” Merlin admitted, thinking on the subject. “I don’t really know what I’m capable of and my boundaries. It’s not like there’s someone I can learn from, and I doubt Uther’s going to hand over the records of past, powerful Magicians.” Merlin frowned, “Though Gaius and I established that I’m not like them even, that my magic doesn’t work in the same way the magicians of the past used theirs.”

Morgana was interested now, some of the hostility fading into curiosity.

“Now that Nimueh’s gone,” Morgana began. “I mean, before, Morgause didn’t want me to practice with the Magicians because of Nimueh. If… if you’re going to take them over…”

She trailed off, uncertain for the first time since they’d met. Morgana didn’t wear uncertainty well, so Merlin spoke, easing the hardship for her.

“If I take them over, I’ll be system in which Magicians are selected.” While Merlin hadn’t exclusively planned to become the leader, he was Emrys and respected. He could use his name for good, to encourage magic and help those who possessed it. It would be just a start in their lifetime, but one day, magic would return to Albion like the days of old, and no one would have to worry about where their shelter would be or their next meal would come from.

“If it’s in my capacity,” he added, shooting glance at Morgana. “Then I’d like to help those that seek it from us, no matter how powerful or knowledgeable.”

As if a weight had been lifted from her shoulder, Morgana nodded thankfully, not quite smiling yet a softer look appearing on her face.

“You’ll have a plethora of titles then,” she said dryly, smirking as she looked to Gwen. “Emrys, leader of the Magicians, saviour of Camelot and the King’s consort to name only a few,” she said slyly, the words filtering into Merlin’s brain slowly.

“What?” he said, suddenly panicked. ”Consort?” he laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous Morgana, why would you say that-“

“Because of the way you look at each other,” Morgana said, smiling openly. Gwen moved forward slightly, a smile on her face too. “A blind man would be able to see how you feel, so naturally it’s all over Court. And don’t think that everyone has no idea that Arthur was by your side when you defeated Nimueh, because they do.”

She smirked. “Castle gossip is a vicious rumour mill, but in this case, almost every word was true. A few discrepancies here and there, but it’s what you’d expect from a story that everyone whispered, yet no one was really there.”

Merlin knew that he wasn’t out of the woods for a long run yet and his relationship with Morgana and Gwen was still strained, but they were offering him bones, trying to patch up their bond while they could, in the peace before Arthur had to force his father from the throne.

That worried Merlin more than he wanted to admit, and he knew he could trust Morgana and Gwen, so he asked without reserve.

“What will happen if Arthur has to fight Uther for the throne?” His question met with silence, and Gwen shook her head, looking to Morgana.

“That depends,” she said, looking out of the window. “But I can’t see anything good coming of a battle.”

A breeze rolled in through the window and they paused, letting the sea air cover them. It was a reminder for Merlin of where he’d come from, but for everyone else it symbolised their future and the hopes they now carried to help all others in need.

“Arthur has the sword?” Morgana asked, voice light, as if she wasn’t really invested in what she was saying.

“Excalibur?” Merlin questioned. “Yes, he has the sword.”

Morgana shook her head slowly, eyes still fixed outside, a soft smile creeping over her lips.

“Then I do not think that there will be bloodshed. I see peace, prosperity, and a world free from the cruelty of our ancestors.” Morgana took in a deep breath and seemed to come back to herself, rising from her seat.

“You should rest a while,” she said. “Evening will be here soon and you need to be ready.”

At Merlin’s shocked look, she added, “Wear comfortable shoes. I think Arthur wants to show you something.”

Morgana strode from the room and Gwen approached Merlin, hugging him close.

“It was a horrible thing you did,” she said, pulling back. “But I’m glad you’re safe. Morgana is too, though she’d rather die than admit something like that.”

Smiling, Merlin watched Gwen leave, knowing that regaining Morgana’s friendship wouldn’t be easy, but that she wasn’t frosty to the idea. Merlin knew that leaving them would have its consequences, and they were kind enough to give him another chance.

He fell back onto the bed, looking up only when the door opened, a splash of red twirling in the light as Arthur closed the door behind him. He took his clothes off, dressing down until he was just in his trousers, slipping under the covers and letting his head fall back on his pillow with a groan.

“I miss sleep,” Arthur moaned, and Merlin turned on his side, giving a low chuckle.

“You can issue a royal decree then, that every Wednesday you have to sleep as much as you can. We can rename it Sleepday, and the entire kingdom will remember your name in all of history as the man who brought the wonderful Sleepday to us all.” Merlin smiled as Arthur’s eyes crinkled and he opened one of them with a laugh.

“I suppose that’s what all the prophecies mean when they say we’ll unite the whole of Albion. If there’s one thing people can do, it’s sleep, so why not manipulate that thinking?” The mood shifted suddenly and Arthur’s face grew grave.

“It’s treason to be talking about this,” he said, voice low. “Even after all he’s done, I know my father wanted what was best for his people. If there had been an easy way, he would have done anything… he was just too scared and too comfortable to risk his neck.”

Merlin shuffled closer, tucking an arm under his cheek.

“It’s hard,” he began, and Arthur’s eyes slid over to watch him. “For him I mean. For us it was easy. I have all this power and prophecies behind my back, you’re the king destine to wield Excalibur… nothing was there to stop us.”

Arthur made as if to say something, but Merlin shook his head.

“Think about it. Uther knew that there was a prophecy one day someone would save them. Everyone knew it, though not many suspected the truth in it. You read that someone will do the saving for you enough times and you end up sitting back and letting them, not because you don’t care, but because someone else already has a solution. A solution that will work and won’t cause unnecessary suffering on the people you want to protect.” Merlin sighed.

“I’m not saying he made some good choices, because he betrayed those he loved. But not everything Uther did was completely awful or unjustified, and I think people will forget that if you have to force him off of the throne.” Arthur was silent, and Merlin hoped that it was a thoughtful silence for good reasons.

“He won’t listen,” Arthur said after a while. “Not to me, not to my mother… I’d ask you to try, but he’d just insult you.”

Shifting his arm, Merlin rested his hand against Arthur’s temple, stroking against the skin there and threading long fingers into Arthur’s hairline.

“We haven’t tried everything yet,” Merlin whispered, eyes closing. “We’ll think of something.”

Arthur was silent a moment more, before, “I just want to sleep.”

Merlin shifted closer, burrowing Arthur against him. They fell asleep shortly after, wind gently flowing in through the open window.

**.**

It was dark again when they woke, and Arthur startled up, eyes wide and only half-awake.

“Oh,” he said dumbly when Merlin joined him, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “I thought…” he trailed off.

“Never mind,” he added a moment later, turning to look at Merlin. “Shall we go for a walk?”

Hungry though he was, Merlin knew this was what Morgana had been referring to earlier, and he changed quickly, slipping on comfortable shoes.

No one was around in the lounge, an oddity, but the reason why was clear when they passed through the room, a glowing, digital clock shining in the dark, pinned against the wall. It was midnight, and they were off for a walk.

Arthur began telling Merlin about parts of the castle they were walking through, drawing him down and down, back to the dungeons and the fork where Excalibur had been displayed. They didn’t take the path to the Obsidian Circle this time, though, instead walking the other way and passing through empty dungeons, door hinges rusty and useless from remaining empty for decades.

When Merlin tried to ask where they were going, Arthur simply gave a secretive smile, fire from their flambeau flickering against his teeth and eyes, making him look half crazed. His hair was still tousled from sleep, which didn’t help much, but he looked so innocent and carefree that Merlin didn’t have the heart to tell him.

The temperature dropped and the flambeau flickered dangerously, threatening to die out. Merlin reached out instinctively, letting his magic flare up around the flame and shield it from the sudden gust of wind, smiling as the flame settled.

He realised belatedly that he’d felt the pull of his magic that time, that it was slowly building inside of him as his body got used to the new, merged magic. Perhaps in time Merlin would be able to manipulate magic completely outside of his body, though that was as far-fetched as the best of them so Merlin put little stock in the idea just yet.

They’d come out of the castle now, further than the Circle, and were winding through the Tower itself, moving down into the very heart. There was only one place that they could be walking to, and Merlin smiled, stepping up beside Arthur and taking his hand.

It took a while longer, but they reached the Queen’s gardens and it was just as Merlin remembered, though alive and real. He could smell the must of age and the decay. It was no less beautiful and impressive as it had been before, and Merlin spotted the throne a way off, and for a moment thought that there was something lumped on it, though he turned away, magic not reacting to any outward threat, and turned his attention to Arthur.

“I was talking to my mother,” he began, walking through the ruined plinths and columns, heading to the throne. “And I wanted to build a memorial garden for the people we lost.” He paused. “For the people you lost.”

Merlin’s stomach dropped and his shoulders dropped slightly. He’d been putting that off of his mind as much as possible, pretending there was a chance that Will and the other villagers were surviving out there in the mass of refugees. It was futile – Merlin knew there was no chance they could have survived, and even his magic wouldn’t have been able to save Will – but he’d clung to the hope nonetheless.

“She was the one who suggested we use this garden,” Arthur said, running a thumb over the back of Merlin’s hand gently, reassuring him and reminding him that he would always be there.

“But it’s her garden,” Merlin protested, shaking his head a little. “She loves it.”

“The stones were moved from here,” Arthur countered gently. “Uther let it fall into decay and the whole garden is dying. Not in the sense that it was ever really living, though there are plants and life down here, but it’s dying from people’s memories.”

Arthur swallowed heavily. “I don’t want people to cling onto the past when they need to move forwards.”

Merlin bristled at his words, but Arthur was quick to soothe.

“I don’t mean just you, but everyone. Our mothers, Mordred, Morgana and Gwen… even the people of Camelot. This garden had its day, but it was abandoned and we need to look ahead. My mother can’t have happy memories of this place anymore without thinking of the Obsidians, and they were cut down cruelly and moved.”

He understood what Arthur was saying, and it was true. But Merlin didn’t know if he was ready to let go of the people from Ealdor just yet, and said as much. They’d drifted to the main square of the gardens now, and they sat on the ground, opposite the throne. The flambeau threw oddly shaped shadows around them, casting an even deeper darkness over the throne.

“It’ll take a while to sort the garden out,” Arthur replied. “And I don’t want you to let go of those people. I want you to keep them with you, to remember them. It’s the people you love and lose who shape the harsher side of you, and it’s better to keep them with you even if they’re lost, because then you know that they’re still there.” Arthur shifted uncomfortably at revealing so much about himself, but Merlin smiled and pressed a small kiss to his cheek.

“My father pushed those he’d lost away. He still does it now. He can’t accept help, has got that into his head for whatever reason, and can’t see that my mother would welcome him back with open arms if he just admitted that he was wrong and was sorry for what he did to her.” Arthur let Merlin tuck himself against him, taking comfort and warmth from each other.

“He was a good king,” Merlin muttered. “But his time has ended. Bloodshed is the last thing you want, so there won’t be any, I promise it on all of my magic. Talking won’t work, but there has to be another way we can prove to your father that he cannot sit on that throne any longer.”

Arthur nodded his head slowly.

“Thank you,” he said in reply to Merlin’s promise. “I could get the council on my side and force him that way, but it’s underhanded and messy.”

He loosened his hold on Merlin to run his hands through his hair, tilting his head back.

“I just want families to be reunited. I want the people that we’ve saved to be happy, it’s the least they serve after everything. I want to search the world and pick up the people who live in fear and bring them straight here, if they’re willing.” Arthur took a breath. “I want to help them all, save them all and keep them safe. At the moment, with my father on the throne, I just can’t do that.”

There was nothing that Merlin could say, so he kept tight against Arthur, recounting stories that had been too painful to tell before, about Will and the other Islanders. There were horrific ones, like the exorcisms that had been performed, and hilarious ones like the time Will had been caught with his trousers around his ankles in the baker’s home, swearing it was an accident and not what it looked like. It had been a genuine accident, but it was a story that never failed to get a rise out of his friend, so Merlin had always twisted it to his own advantage.

The point was though that Merlin had never told these to Arthur before, for it had always been too painful. A slow process though it would be, Merlin was healing from his losses, remembering them how they would have wanted him to rather than raging for reasons he couldn’t change.

They eventually left, returning to the castle and to their beds, lying down and Arthur falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Merlin took a little longer, tired brain trying to process and oddity he’d felt in the garden, as if someone else had been reacting to his stories, but he pushed the task from his mind and joined Arthur in sleep shortly after.

.

 

Camelot life returned to almost-normal for the first time since the network had been shut down. While Merlin hadn’t ventured from the castle, Hunith and Ygraine had walked through the City, delighting in the normalcy (for Ygraine) and the new sights (for Hunith) and getting to know each other better. They looked as though they’d be good friends, something Merlin was relieved at.

Merlin and Arthur had woken up late that day and the women had already been gone, so during breakfast when Morgana rushed in to find Ygraine, Arthur and Merlin were ready to take her place, Arthur’s face growing steadily more stony with every step toward Uther’s summons he took.

They entered a smaller council room this time, comfortable with a fire on – decoration more than anything, for heating was a necessity all over Camelot – in the ornate fireplace, crackling merrily with Uther seated at the head of the table.

“Arthur,” he greeted, not overly surprised that his son was there and not Ygraine. “And… Merlin, was it? Forgive me if I sound rude, I haven’t been that good with names lately.”

Beside him, Merlin felt Arthur bristle at the change of tone in his father, and Merlin tested his magic slightly, trying to feel whether he could judge Uther’s intentions. Nothing alerted Merlin, and if he wasn’t so unsure as to whether it had worked, Merlin would have guessed that Uther was being genuine with what he was saying.

“Father?” Arthur questioned tightly, but Uther waved his question off with a gloved hand.

“Sit down Arthur,” he chided gently. “I notice Ygraine isn’t with you though,” he continued, voice sounding strained.

“She’s out with my mother, shopping or… something,” Merlin substituted, not liking the sour look on Arthur’s face as they took their seats, at the side of the table and next to each other.

Uther looked surprised. “Your mother?” he asked gently, probing yet not in an uncomfortable manner.

“Yes,” merlin replied, still blunt despite the effort Uther was putting into playing nice. “My magic saved her from drowning when our boats tipped over. We’d both be dead if not for my magic, though she was taken by the Pickings so we haven’t been reunited for that long.”

A low blow though it was, Merlin wanted to know if the king was capable of regret. From the look that crossed his face, however momentarily, Merlin knew that he was, but would that be enough?

“I had planned to talk to your mother first,” Uther said, moving forwards in his chair to rest his hands on the table. “But you can’t help these things.”

He stood and tucked his chair in, pacing before the fire for a few moments. Then Uther turned to face them, a smile on his face and an expression that Merlin would never have associated with him. He couldn’t put a name to it – pride, love, acceptance were a few that it could be - but it made Uther look human, less of the stern figurehead Merlin had always seen him as in his head.

“I need to apologise,” he said, looking first to Arthur and then focusing on Merlin. “Last night, I needed to think so I went to your mother’s gardens,” his gaze flickered back to Arthur. “I sat behind the throne.”

Merlin remembered the strange presence he’d felt, and nodded slowly, but Arthur rose from his seat, hand moving to Excalibur (the sword was always at his side, mostly from Merlin’s insistence) and unsheathing the blade. Uther, to his credit, didn’t even flinch, but Merlin stood too, catching Arthur’s arm.

“Wait,” he said, looking at Uther. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

For a moment, Arthur looked as though he wanted nothing more than to wrench his arm from Merlin’s grip and lunge for Uther, but he calmed a moment later and nodded, laying Excalibur on the table and sitting back down with Merlin.

“I heard you,” Uther said, nodding to Merlin. “Your stories of your Island and your friends.”

Arthur’s hand twitched, itching for his sword, but Merlin moved forwards a little in his seat, drawing Arthur’s attention and letting Uther continue.

“I also heard you talking, Arthur,” were the next words, and Arthur didn’t move a muscle, tensed up, obviously expecting the worst.

While he hadn’t been expecting it, Merlin wondered if Uther had changed his mind. They’d tried forcing him from the throne, but instead it looked as though he would abdicate from an accident, eavesdropping when he wasn’t supposed to. Morgana had seen a future without bloodshed, perhaps this was the future she’d seen.

“I never wanted you to be the king that I was,” Uther said, pacing slowly. “I never wanted you to learn of the terrible things that I’d done, that our family has done, even though there was no other option.”

Uther looked at Merlin. “There wasn’t another option, but that doesn’t mean that I should have stopped looking. I realise that now, and so am indebted to you both.”

He took a deep breath, looking at Arthur. “That is why I’m choosing to abdicate the throne. I am not the man who will lead our people to greatness. I am not the man who will defy everything and everyone on an impossible mission that will save his people.”

Merlin watched as Uther paused, directly before the fireplace. He could see the young king he had once been, but more importantly the real person he was. A man who was worried for his son, a man who had made many mistakes, yet wanted to finally set things right.

“I shall make a public announcement, and I hope you’ll forgive me for stating reasons as poor health. Perhaps the truth could be revealed, but I am not the person to do so.” Uther stepped forwards, face grim.

“It’s not easy, but I know you’re ready.” He looked at Excalibur. “There are many legends behind the origin of that sword and why it will not yield to just any master. Every Pendragon king, and the kings before, has tried to wield the blade, a few queens too, though none have ever been able to.”

Merlin could see Arthur listening in interest, eyes fixed on Uther.

“Some people say it belonged to the gods, others to mythical creatures. There is one alive who might remember its origin, but if he was the very same dragon that forged that sword, I do not know.”

At the mention of Kilgharrah, Merlin wondered if it was possible, that he had been alive for all that time. It wasn’t impossible, but to imagine the dragon chained in the dark for so many centuries was almost unbearable.

“The only certainty with that sword is the man who can wield it.” Pride shone in Uther’s eyes, and there was definitely love this time. “To be able to say that my son is such a man is more than I’d ever expected, but you don’t need a sword to prove your worth.”

Merlin watched as Uther stepped beside Arthur, resting his knuckles against Arthur’s cheek tenderly, before pulling back a moment later.

“I am not perfect,” he admitted. “But non man should be. Ygraine was there to keep me grounded, but I foolishly cast her aside for my own gain.”

His eyes flickered to Merlin, surprisingly warm. “You care for each other,” he said. “Always remember that, and never be afraid to challenge each other. You need each other; don’t make the same mistakes that I did.”

Uther sighed, and a weight seemed to slide from his shoulders.

“We all want to think that we’ll be a good king,” he said, taking the coronet from his head and placing it on the table. “But you, my son, have proved your worth already. You’ve done so much for our people, and I know that you will continue to serve and protect them. There’s no place for a man like me to be in power, which is why I presented my decision to the council before I told you.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he shook his head, but Merlin took a hold of his forearm, calming him.

“Arthur,” he said, drawing Arthur’s attention. “It’s okay. You know you’re ready, we can do this.”

Merlin could feel Uther’s gaze, and as Arthur looked down to gather himself, Merlin looked at the former king, seeing nothing by a father who loved his son dearly. This was the Uther who had taken his oath to be a king, the Uther Ygraine had fallen in love with, the man Uther would have been if he had strove for what was right instead of what was easy.

There was a grinding sound and the door to the corridor opened with a click. Uther stood as Ygraine entered, eyes blazing. She frowned, taken aback as she noticed that Merlin and Arthur were seated comfortably, and Uther’s expression was open and honest.

“My Lady,” he said, bowing his head. “I’d wanted to tell you first, but you were busy.”

Ygraine frowned, looking at Merlin. He could see the worry in her eye, but she seemed relieved by the expression on his face, and relaxed a little.

“I’m to abdicate,” Uther announced and Ygraine’s eyes widened, almost comically. “I was informing Arthur that he’d be crowned within the next few days, most likely the day after tomorrow. The official announcement will be made in the mornings and –“

“Why?” Ygraine cut in, shaking her head. “Why now?”

Uther looked at her sadly for a moment before he shook his head.

"Someone reminded me that I'm not the person I promised to be. Arthur is more the king than I ever could be, and it's more than time for me to step down." He paused, glancing at Merlin and Arthur, as if he'd rather not say this in front of them, yet had no choice.

"I was wrong," Uther said. "If I'd carried on the way I was, I would have caused unnecessary pain and suffering. That wouldn't only make me a terrible king, but a horrible person as well."

He sighed. "I'm not expecting forgiveness, far from it," he added, as if sensing Ygraine's pending question. "But I can try to be a better person, and that's all I ask for you to remember. That I'll try, and I don't expect anything from you."

While they may still love each other, Merlin realised, Uther wasn't expecting Ygraine to welcome him with open arms. Maybe in time they would grow closer again, but that wasn't possible with all that had happened. Uther would try, though, and maybe, for Ygraine this time, he would become a better person.

Arthur sheathed Excalibur once again and turned to Merlin, sensing it was their time to leave. Ygraine remained behind, needing to hear more from Uther on why he’d done it, and Merlin knew Arthur wished to give them privacy.

The door closed behind them, and Arthur sank against the wall, eyes wide and mouth opened slightly. When he hit the floor, he looked back up at Merlin, frowning with the shock.

Merlin smiled, crouching on the balls of his feet.

“The Once and Future King,” he murmured, pushing Arthur’s hair back from his forehead. “My dragon and the man I’d cross the entire Ocean for.” He moved forwards to kiss Arthur softly, pulling back to whisper against his lips.

“We can help them all,” he said. “We can help them all and unite the entire world if we have to. We’ll do it together, you, me, our mothers, our family… we can do it.”

The smile that broke Arthur’s shock was beautiful, and Merlin leant in to kiss him again, smiling for the future they would ensure for their people.

**.**

Arthur Pendragon was crowned King two days later, sun shining above as the entire City watched the crown being placed on the young king. The large screens in the Square were watched by a mass of people, cheering and celebrations erupting when Arthur was announced, not once dying down. It was a benefit of a technological kingdom; things could move quickly and an entire coronation could be fabricated in hours.

It seemed that no matter where people were, no matter whether they lived on the land of the sky, they would always celebrate in the same ways. They weren’t so different, regardless of what the kings and sorcerers of the past may have convinced themselves.

Merlin watched the proceedings at the head of the Magicians, in his blue cloak and dressed smartly underneath. Arthur’s eyes kept seeking him out, and Merlin forced himself not to smile too much, aware of the millions of eyes watching them all around.

Hunith sat next to Ygraine at the side of the room, in the only seated area of the room. It was reserved for members of the royal family and their most trusted, and Merlin had had to force Arthur not to place him there, wanting to see Arthur properly as well as take his place with the sorcerers who were close to hero-worship. Merlin was just a man, and he needed them to understand that too.

Arthur stepped down from where he’d knelt before the thrones, a crown on his brow and a smile on his lips. Excalibur was at his hip, the true glory of the sword hidden by its sheath, and Merlin knew the Obsidian lay over his chest, hidden from the public just as Merlin’s was.

The day was still young, and Arthur had to entertain nobles of all kind, and he also moved through the crowds, Merlin by his side for protection (not that he needed it, the people loved Arthur), greeting the subjects he’d striven to protect no matter what.

The story of what Merlin and Arthur had done, as well as the truth, had leaked somehow. Merlin suspected Gwen and Morgana had something to do with it, but it was known throughout the City. People were thanking them – Merlin just as much as Arthur – for saving them all. If Uther had not abdicated, the kingdom would have been in uproar, no longer loyal to the king, but the prince. It would have ended in war and so many needless deaths.

The construction work was finished in part, empty buildings ready to be populated. Magic had never flourished like this before the start of the Floods, and Merlin marvelled at how long a balance had taken to form.

People had begun to reject magic, perhaps a partial cause of the severity of the Floods, but they were now welcoming it with open arms. It wasn’t twisted, but treasured, and that wasn’t even taking Merlin himself into account, or the things that he could do.

The day was late, and Merlin was led back to their rooms, the same ones that he an Arthur had stayed in before. The others in their little group - Mordred, Ygraine and Hunith – had chosen rooms closer to the heart of the palace, but Arthur had asked if Merlin wanted to stay, and he’d agreed. No other room had the view they did, and no other room would be their room in the same way this one was.

They drifted off to sleep, Merlin knowing that he had to wake early to fulfil a promise.

When it came to freeing Kilgharrah, Merlin had to dig. He went down into the darkness alone, save for the orb of blue light by his shoulder, and smiled when Kilgharrah shifted, already waiting.

“Where will you go?” Merlin asked, looking up at his kin and feeling a selfish urge to demand Kilgharrah to stay close. He couldn’t, though, not after the dragon had been locked away for so many years. No matter what Merlin wanted, he wouldn’t force Kilgharrah.

Kilgharrah blinked slowly, nostrils flaring as the blue orb of light circled them lazily, Merlin taking note of the landscape and formulating a plan while waiting for the reply.

“There’s only one thing I can do Merlin,” he said kindly. “I am the last of my kind, and there is little else for me to do save for remain with the last of my kin.”

Happiness bubbles inside of Merlin and Kilgharrah gave a toothy smile.

“I refuse to stay in Camelot, but if you need me then all you have to do is call for me. I’m going to fly, and I’ll look out for people who are in need.” Kilgharrah shifted his weight, the heavy chain clinking on the ground.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, meaning it with every fibre of his being. What Kilgharrah was going to do for him went above and beyond anything and everything Merlin had expected.

The light overhead spluttered before it expanded, flooding the area in light. It gave Merlin a clear view of the dips and grooves around them, as well as the other side of the cave. It was smoother than Merlin’s side, and he knew that that was the side they’d have a better time digging through.

“I need to use my magic to dig through the wall,” Merlin said, and Kilgharrah drew his head back slightly in surprise.

“No Dragonlord has ever had the audacity to ask what you want of me before,” he said, narrowing golden eyes. “But no Dragonlord before you has pledged to set me free or shown so much power. A dragon’s magic is eternal, unlike most of our Lords, but your magic is more like a dragon, or any creature of magic, than a human’s.”

Kilgharrah bend his neck down, squatting on his legs and offering a spine for Merlin to hold onto.

“It is unorthodox, but I have a feeling that unorthodox is a good description for your entire life.” Kilgharrah let out a rumble of laughter, causing Merlin to grip tightly to the scaled ridge in front of him, and then they were off, a powerful beat of his wings. Merlin only just managed to stay on, and that was with a liberal use of magic.

Hooking his claws onto the side of the wall with a grating screech, Kilgharrah landed and Merlin gathered his magic, feeling the wall and the elements that made it up. They were just above the ground at this point, and the earth here was fused partially with the metal from the Tower.

Still, it would bend to Merlin’s will, and as he pushed with his magic, the wall began to part, dirt pushing apart and a hole opening, not quite wide enough for them to fit through yet, but growing steadily. The blue light flickered and died above them, but Merlin was glowing again, filling the space with a brighter light than before.

The roar of the Ocean filled the cave when Merlin was done, sea spray licking the outer edge of the channel. They were just above the sea level, and Kilgharrah stretch out his neck and sniff he air, a delighted shudder running through his body.

As if reading Merlin’s thoughts, Kilgharrah moved back to the other side and touched down, letting Merlin climb off. Excalibur was at his hip, Arthur having shoved the sword at Merlin when he’d asked, explaining that Merlin didn’t technically need to ask for it, that it was as much his sword as Excalibur was Arthur’s (a lie, Excalibur would never belong to anyone but Arthur, but he hadn’t taken no for an answer, so what the king wanted apparently he got) and Arthur’s alone. It was heavy in Merlin’s hands, but it would be the only sword that could break the chain.

Kilgharrah arched his neck as Merlin drew the blade, and he snorted in amusement. Merlin looked at him, then the sword, and realised what Uther had said might just be true.

“You forged this sword?” he asked in amazement, using both hands to hold it out in front of him.

“In another lifetime, a long, long time ago,” Kilgharrah replied, eyes warm and amused. There was something hidden in his tone, but Merlin knew he’d never decipher it.

“Okay then,” Merlin said, looking at the chain on the dragon’s leg. “Hold still.”

With a rush of magic, Merlin drove Excalibur down onto the chain, splitting the links with a crackle of sparks. The residual magic that had been stored in the chain left in a rush, sending a shock through Merlin. It was uncomfortable, but not unwelcome, and then the feeling was gone in a rush of wind, Kilgharrah swooping through the gap in the wall and seeing true daylight for the first time in centuries.

At the very edge, though, the dragon paused and tuned his head back, twisting his bulk around awkwardly.

“Your people await a sign of change,” he said, tail lashing against the wall as he lost his balance ever so slightly. “The refugees down here know nothing other than there was a change in Camelot. They’ve lived in fear since that, but I do believe its time you opened the gates once and for all.”

Merlin had talked about this with Arthur. With construction almost finished, they had been planning on opening Camelot’s gates soon. The people from the Pickings were filling up the homes that had been created at the moment, but Merlin had imparted specific orders for more buildings to be built to his sorcerers, and they’d started work at once. They weren’t to be the highest quality homes, but they were better than what the refugees had now, and it would give them comfort and hope for a better life.

With a swoop of his wings, Kilgharrah was back by Merlin’s side, and it took only a moment for Merlin to decide what to do. Together, they passed from the cave and out into the sun – the weather had settled, and summer was warm and full of sun, just like all the stories had told – and merlin broke into laughter as he saw the rays glinting off the back of smooth, calm waves. Behind them, the hole in the cave filled back in on itself, the surface looking as though there had never been a scratch, let alone a hole, before.

From the air, the world looked so small, so insignificant. Kilgharrah stretched his neck, wings pushing them up and around the long, dark Tower. The support structures had spilt apart from the main Tower and crumpled into the sea, odd, spider-legged shapes. He could see dots moving below, masses of people clumped on each Island that the support towers had given birth to, and Merlin wondered why it had taken them this long to do something about these people.

They alighted at the base of the Tower first, Kilgharrah’s massive bulk landing mostly in the sea. People scattered, though they’d landed at the edge of the camp, people had scattered in panic, pushing up against the rest of the camp as much as they could. Everyone had seen their arrival, and Merlin jumped down from Kilgharrah, the gap between him and the people not much in distance, but a world apart in terms of trust.

“My name is Merlin!” Merlin shouted, magic catching in his throat and pushing his voice to every ear. “I’m a sorcerer from Camelot, and it’s been too long since you’ve had a safe home, shelter and enough food to fill your bellies.”

There were sceptics, Merlin could feel them, muttering about the fool before them and his lies.

“I’ve lived amongst you,” Merlin persisted, and a few more people turned their attention to him fully. “I came from an Island called Ealdor and was told I had a great destiny, that I had to save those in need.”

A few laughs rose at his words, but Merlin had expected a far frostier reception, so smiled with them. They didn’t have to believe him, but he’d inspire perhaps a few with hope, so that when the boats bearing Arthur’s mark came, they would believe him.

“You don’t have to believe me, but when people bearing a golden dragon crest come to open the gates, you have my word that Camelot will be open to you. At last you will find peace,” Merlin said, looking over at the hundreds of people, grubby faced and full despair. “You will be safe.”

There was nothing else that Merlin could say, so he climbed back onto Kilgharrah, visiting each of the other isles, making the same speech and promising aid. He was still met with hostility and disbelief, but he’d done something, rather than ignoring the people.

Kilgharrah took them higher this sweep of the Tower, circling the structure as he pushed past the curve of the City itself, and Merlin could see that the top had bloomed like a flower. It was open to the sky, outer reaches blasted apart like flower petals, and they passed over the entire length of Camelot before Kilgharrah swooped down, past the tall, impressive buildings and to the heart of the City.

A few people called out in alarm as the huge shadow Kilgharrah made passed over them, but soon enough people were calling out in delight, having only seen dragons on the crest of Camelot. They flew low over a school, children running across the concrete playground, as if they could catch them, calling up in delight to Merlin, who waved down at them.

The wind blew against his face, but Merlin just laughed, throwing his arms up into the air. Kilgharrah suddenly shifted his flight, swooping up, and Merlin had to drab onto the spine before him, adrenaline pumping through his body as they came to the castle. They moved over the castle’s courtyard once before Kilgharrah set down, tucking his wings up neatly and letting Merlin slip down.

“Thank you,” Merlin said, touching the dragon’s cheek before he pulled away, preparing to take flight again. He didn’t, though, and Merlin turned to see the reason why approaching them, moving from the shadows of the castle.

“People are saying it’s a sign,” Arthur said as he walked down the steps. He was dressed in armour and cloak, traditional uniform for a newly appointed king apparently, and Merlin jumped from Kilgharrah’s neck, smiling.

“That a dragon was born on the eve of my coronation and grew overnight. He’s the first dragon, sacred to Camelot, and a sign that I am the rightful king.” Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin before turning to the dragon and bowing his head.

“My words are worth little, but I am sorry for what has been done to you.” Arthur paused, looking up. “If there is anything I can do, within reason, then it shall be granted to you.”

Kilgharrah bent his neck and came face to face with Arthur, snorting in his direction. His eyes were narrowed, and Merlin watched carefully, just in case Kilgharrah decided to take the past out on Arthur. No matter how deep their kinship was, he couldn’t allow the dragon to hurt Arthur.

“You will be a great king,” Kilgharrah announced, lifting his head back. “All I ask is that you take care of Merlin. I’m sure we will see each other again soon, but I will always be able to feel if you have hurt Merlin, no matter if I am beside him or half the Ocean away.”

Although he was a giant dragon, Arthur still looked at Kilgharrah as though they were equals, and nodded, the action heavily weighted with promise.

Without another word, Kilgharrah pushed off of the ground and up into the air. Merlin watched, hand cupped over his eyes and against the sun, until Kilgharrah was a dot in the sky, free and far away.

“Come on,” Arthur said softly. “There’s still so much to do, and your sorcerers will be wanting to get to know the real Emrys.”

Merlin laughed, shaking his head and jogging to Arthur’s side. “They’ll be disappointed when they get to know the real me,” he said, but Arthur shook his head.

“They won’t,” he promised. “Though if they are, perhaps I could pay you all a visit, let them remember that their Emrys isn’t the only one who they have to serve.”

Merlin shoved Arthur’s shoulder.

“You brute,” he said, not without affection. “I’ve got myself stuck with a complete brute haven’t I?”

The responding laughter bounced off of the corridor around them, and Merlin smiled too, feeling at home and peace for the first time in a long, long while.

**.**

Merlin frowned as a stray piece of hair blew into his eyes, and he knew he needed a haircut soon. He said as much to Arthur, tilting his head to the side, and Arthur laughed quietly, hunching his shoulders yet trying to keep the noise at a minimum. Morgana was close by and she was on a warpath trying to make sure they made a good impression on the people coming up from the ground level, led by Knights and Magicians, all kitted with the Pendragon Crest.

The noise of the first shuttles hit their ears and Merlin shifted in nervous anticipation. These were the people he’d made the promise to a few days before, with Kilgharrah at his back, and now he was seeing it through, Arthur by his side and other important people around.

Larger shuttles were waiting to fill up, to take the people to their new homes – blocks of flats with all the necessities – and there were knights and castle workers waiting at the flats to help. Other workers, social workers and members of the government used to dealing with these problems, were interspersed with all the other helpers, ready to be there for the people who needed them the most.

Today was about getting the refugees into their homes, giving them food and shelter. Tomorrow would bring about a new team of workers dedicated to providing the people with an identity, giving them cards and money from the government, a basic wage to get them on their feet. Camelot would do what it could to help the people it had left abandoned for so long.

The first shuttles approached, and Arthur stiffened. They’d had this conversation before, confiding in Merlin he was scared. What if the refugees hated him, what if they felt betrayed before he’d already tried…

Merlin had reassured him. Merlin had been one of them, and he knew the hope they all carried, buried deep inside. They’d love Arthur if he was true to his word and true to their needs. They’d love Arthur if he remembered the past, but didn’t let it shape his opinions of the individuals, if he sought forgiveness through help and moved Camelot forwards.

As people disembarked the shuttles, wide-eyed and scared, Morgana was the first to move forwards. She, Gwen and a few others took them aside slightly, welcoming groups to Camelot, reassuring them that they were safe now and would be cared for. Everyone had a hand-held device to record names in, so broken families could be reunited.

The stream of people was almost never ending and they remained down by the shuttle until nightfall, too tired to continue checking people in. Arthur and Merlin were replaced by Hunith and Ygraine, and they took a shuttle back to the castle, leaning against each other.

“It’s really happening,” Arthur said as he looked out of their window, staring into the darkness and squinting through the electrical lights, in the vague direction the shuttle platform was stationed.

Merlin came to stand beside Arthur, resting his arms on the window as he leant out slightly.

“It is,” he said. “And we can help all of those out there. It’ll be difficult, but it will be done.”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled as he turned to Merlin, smiling.

“There are still people who hate us,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s thoughts turned to Alvarr, hidden in the Wastelands and left to rule his own land.

There were no doubt others who had refused Camelot’s aid, and Merlin wondered how long it would be before they sought each other and festered anger and hatred in the darkness. There was nothing they could do though, except be prepare for that time if it came.

“And there will be those who love us,” Arthur added, sliding his gaze over to Merlin. Merlin smiled in return, shifting until he could catch Arthur’s hand and twine their fingers. He wouldn’t admit it just yet, but he loved Arthur, always had, and always would.

Rain began falling over Camelot, and Merlin took in a deep breath. The world smelt fresh, new and revitalised, and that was what they would become. Already the Sky City was shifting, becoming more than it had been, and Arthur was the reason. Merlin may be part of the force, but he’d never have left Ealdor if not for his dragon, if not for Arthur.

Arthur tilted his head until he was resting against Merlin, eyes half-closed as he stared out at their kingdom. Merlin leaned into the touch, smiling softly to the night sky. He could see the stars, though they were blocked by a large cloud on the most part, but it was something he’d never really seen before.

He’d come so far, been through so much, lost and gained almost too much in the process… and yet the world had just been sitting there, waiting for them to fall into their rightful places. The world had been waiting for Arthur and Merlin to be side-by-side, protecting their kingdom, and while the thought should be horrifying, it was reassuring.

Merlin thought back to the scared boy he’d been when Gaius had told him of his destiny, when Kilgharrah had imparted the knowledge he had of it and even when Arthur had mentioned it in Ygraine’s garden. He’d been afraid of it back then, afraid of it even to the point where he’d stepped into the Circle, but now he’d accepted it, rejoiced in it.

Arthur needed him, and Merlin needed Arthur. That much would never change, and it made destiny easier to swallow. They didn’t need to fear the future, because – unlike their ancestors – they could fight for what was right.

There would be no more stories told to children like the story of Mykonos Arthur had grown up on, instead the truth of two men who had fought for what was right and saved the people they loved.

Just as Merlin and Arthur did, Camelot fell into an easy peace that night, settling with the weight of its people, folding around them protectively and welcoming the new arrivals.

As the refugees entered their new homes, ate their first proper meals for a long while and slept in warm beds, the King and Emrys of the Ocean were dead to the word, wrapped up in each other with two Obsidian stones side-by-side between them, Merlin’s magic beating in time with Arthur’s pulse and flowing through them both as well as the entire City, leading Camelot into her Golden Age, forged on a bond of trust and love.

Nothing was perfect yet, but the world was healing itself, as was Camelot. It would take time, but they had plenty of that now, thanks to a man who had answered a dragon’s call and taken the brave leap to cross the Ocean he’d once tried to stop.

**.The End.**


End file.
